


there's a bull and a matador dueling in the sky

by InfinityJay



Series: dumbasses in love [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Heavy, Drug Use, Injury, Jealous Oikawa Tooru, M/M, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, teenage boys smoke weed okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinityJay/pseuds/InfinityJay
Summary: “I have a date.”A sharp pain pierces Oikawa’s heart. Yet, when he touches his chest, there’s nothing there. “Oh?” he says, because he’s sure that’s all he can say without his voice giving out.Iwaizumi gets a girlfriend and Oikawa is totally, incredibly, and terrifically fucked in all the worst ways.





	1. inhale

“You’re shitting me! In the storage closet?” Oikawa stage-whispers across his bed to his best friend.

Iwaizumi nods, since he can’t answer verbally through the coughing. He covers his mouth with his elbow, unable to stop the cough. He hands the blunt to Oikawa when he can breathe and says, “I went in for paper towels to clean up after your dumb ass and left with trauma.”

Oikawa holds up a finger. “Hey. It’s not my fault Yahaba was eating oatmeal as a snack and then I happened to miss my serve,” he defended.

“You don’t miss.”

“And don’t you forget it. Are they really going to keep it a secret?” Oikawa looks down to where the two boys in question, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, were curled up on the futons beside the bed. They’re fast asleep.

“Yep,” is Iwaizumi’s only response.

“And you’re not going to tell anyone?” Oikawa’s eyebrows pull together.

“Nope.”

“I can’t tell anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t tease them about this at all?” His tone is increasingly distressed.

“Nope.”

“Then why the hell did you tell me!?” Oikawa throws his hands into the air in frustration. This is a golden opportunity and Iwaizumi just raised him up to kick him back to the ground again. How will he be able to resist teasing such an easy target? Iwaizumi only laughs at his struggle. “This is… This is horrible. There has to be… Be some sort of… This is fraternization. This is illegal.”

Iwaizumi stretches his legs out on the bed and gives Oikawa an amused look, like he’s being ridiculous but still entertaining. “This isn’t the military,” he says.

“It might as well be with how Irihata runs the team,” he mutters and takes a puff from the blunt. He shakes his head. “Whatever. I don’t get paid enough to care if two of our teammates are fucking.”

Iwaizumi points at him and then takes the blunt. “Hey, I never said they were fucking. And you don’t get paid at all!”

“I know! It’s ridiculous! I should join a union or something. You know what I give to the team? Everything. You know what I get back? Zilch. Nada. Nothin’,” he says, leaning back on his elbows.

His friend rolls his eyes so far back he only sees white. “Shut up, you fuckin’ reprobate,” he mutters and takes a hit from the blunt.

Oikawa bites his lip. “Mmm. Stop it, Iwa-chan. You know it turns me on when you use big words,” he purrs, blinking big eyes to an unaffected Iwaizumi.

“How fuckin’ serendipitous for you.”

Oikawa moans and throws himself back onto his bed. He hears Iwaizumi chuckling softly and props his head up on his hands to look at him. Iwaizumi gazes out the window, carefully ashing the blunt in the ashtray on the windowsill. Oikawa’s eyes trail up his hand, to his wrist, to his forearm. Veins make themselves known below the surface of his skin, noticeable but not bulging. Only part of his bicep is visible under his sleeve, but Oikawa will take when he can get. Fuck, Iwaizumi has pretty arms. Not that he didn’t already know that. He knew.

He hands the blunt to Oikawa. “So, have you heard back from any colleges?” he asks, blowing the smoke out towards the window. How thoughtful.

“No, why? Have you?” It’s still pretty early in the year. Most universities won’t respond for a few more months, at least.

A shrug. His eyes won’t meet Oikawa’s. “Not gonna accept anything until I know where you’re going,” he says in a quiet voice. The tips of his ears have turned a barely-there shade of pink. 

Realization dawns on Oikawa. His eyebrows shoot up and he coughs on the hit he’s in the middle of. “You want to go to the same university, don’t you?” he asks, as if that’s something he didn’t already know. They’ve been talking about going to college together since before they knew what college was.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t confirm nor deny Oikawa’s assumption. Emphasis on deny.

“Aww. I knew you couldn’t live without me, Iwa-chan!”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Iwaizumi grumbles. Oikawa’s body feels lighter, and it’s not from the drugs.

“How dare you,” he challenged, though he was smiling. “You’re in my house.”

“And you’re smoking my weed,” Iwaizumi challenges and plucks the blunt from Oikawa’s fingers.

Suddenly insecure, Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest and looks down. “I told you I’d buy next time,” he mumbles.

Iwaizumi lets out a deep breath. “Relax, Shittykawa. I was kidding. God, you can dish it out but you just can’t take it, can you?” he asks, eyes narrowing. Oh, that sounds like a challenge.

Oikawa sits up, again. His voice drops an octave when he replies, “Trust me, Hajime. I can take it.”

Iwaizumi pauses, the blunt at his lips. Neither say a word. He doesn’t miss the suggestion. Oikawa doesn’t miss when Iwaizumi glances down to his lips, quirked into a crooked grin. Then, they snap back up to his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he inhales, opens his mouth, and sucks the smoke into his nose. He blows it out through his mouth.

“When are your parents getting home?” Iwaizumi questions, effectively slicing through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Oikawa looks down at his sheets

“Tomorrow,” he answers. “After I wake their,” he points to the boys on the floor, “asses up and kick them out for smoking my weed and not telling me they were secretly in cahoots.” He shifts to lean his elbow against the wall by the window.

“My weed.”

“In my house.”

Cringing, Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Don’t say cahoots. God, you’re so weird. They’re just dating,” he says and offers the disappearing blunt to Oikawa.

He narrows his eyes at the blunt and scrunches up his nose. “What’s even in this?” he asks, letting it burn.

Iwaizumi is dumbfounded. “Weed.” 

“No- I mean what kind of strain did you get? They passed out after, like, four hits,” he explains. They could just be pussy lightweights, but Oikawa feels a little drowsy, too. He’s heard different types have different effects (i.e. sleepiness) but he never cared enough to pay attention.

Iwaizumi shrugs with one shoulder. “You think I know? I take whatever I can get. Indica, sativa, they taste the same to me.” He draws one knee up to rest his elbow against it.

Oikawa closes his eyes, nods, and with the wisdom of a thousand weed connoisseurs says, “Weeds is the same.”

Fingers take the blunt, now more of a roach, from Oikawa’s grip. He doesn’t protest. He leans his head against the window jamb and breathes in the fresh air. The soft breeze feels cool over his burning, buzzing skin. Hair tickles his eyelids and he pushes it up and out of his face.

When he opens his eyes again, Iwaizumi is snuffing out the roach and flicking it out the window. Oikawa’s going to have to track that down so this side of the house doesn’t smell like weed. But that’s a problem for future Oikawa. “You could’ve save that,” he mumbles. Iwaizumi doesn’t hear him.

Green eyes are on him when Iwaizumi leans his head against his own window jamb. “Should I roll another one?” he asks. Oikawa doesn’t feel like talking, so he just nods.

Oikawa watches him while he rolls another blunt, fingers steady where Oikawa’s would be shaky. Iwaizumi does most things like he plays volleyball: smooth, determined, confident. Taking a deep breath, Oikawa says, “You’re such a bad influence on me, Iwa-chan. Forcing me to take all of these drugs.”

Iwaizumi scoffs without looking up. “Uh, if I’m not mistaken, you’re the one that called for this ‘emergency study session.’” He pauses in his work to make air quotes with his fingers as he says emergency study session.

“My grades are very important to me.”

Iwaizumi is only half listening, but he chuckles at his friend. He sparks the blunt and blows on the end until the glow is steady. No hesitation; he knows what he’s doing. That’s a quality Oikawa admires in him, and wishes he had himself.

Eyes avoiding Oikawa’s, he suddenly says, “I want to try something that Mitsuki showed me, but it would require you to cooperate, which I know goes against your primary programming.”

Oikawa lifts his head to give Iwaizumi his full attention. This kid’s been having some problems with looking people in the eye tonight. “Mitsuki?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Fraternizing with the girls’ team, are you, Iwa-chan? That’s punishable by death, you know.”

“Would you listen, for once?” There’s an edge in his voice, barely there. His fingers fiddle nervously with the blunt in his hand. Is he nervous?

“I’m game. What is it?” Oikawa asks. How bad could it be? He trusts his best friend.

Iwaizumi raises his eyes. Instead of making eye contact with Oikawa, though, he makes eye contact with the alien poster on the wall over his shoulder. “I don’t know how to explain it, so I’ll just lead and you’ll just go with it,” he not-explains.

“Awfully demanding, babe. You know I love it when you take charge,” Oikawa purrs, a lazy grin stretching his lips.

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa by the back of the head and pressed their lips together. He froze from shock, suddenly 30,000 miles above the clouds, out of his body. He comes back down when he feels Iwaizumi’s tongue ghost over his closed lips. He opens them and is about to reach out to Iwaizumi’s tongue with his own, when his friend starts blowing.

Oh. He’s shotgunning.

Oikawa sucks in until his lungs almost burst. Iwaizumi releases his hold on him and sits back. Oikawa blows the smoke out through his nose, afraid he’ll lose the minty taste of Iwaizumi if he opens his mouth. They gaze at each other for a few seconds before he looks down at the blunt in his hand.

“You didn’t get anything form that, did you?” Iwaizumi asks, disappointed. Oh, if only he knew how much Oikawa got from that. “When Mitsuki showed me that, I didn’t get anything from it. Just her bad breath.” He grimaces at the memory.

Oikawa is suddenly very worried about how his breath smells. He doesn’t say anything, but hopes the heat and subsequent redness in his cheeks can be blamed on the drugs. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what can be said. When the blunts passed to him, he silently takes it.

“Do you think they’re happy?” Iwaizumi asks, shocking Oikawa with the spontaneity of the question. When he looks up, the other boy is looking down to where Hanamaki and Matsukawa are curled up together on the futons.

The answer is probably yes. Oikawa can’t claim to have ever seen either of the two unhappy. “How should I know? I just found out ten minutes ago,” he says and takes a hit. “How’d it happen?”

“How’d they get together?” Oikawa nods. “Hanamaki said he just went for it. Said he was sick of them being in that in-between where they didn’t know what they were to each other. Said he wanted to clarify.”

With a soft laugh, Oikawa comments, “I see it worked out well for him.”

“No, you didn’t see. I saw. And I see it all over again every time I close my eyes,” Iwaizumi replies, a haunted look taking over his green eyes. Whatever he’s seeing in his head makes him shiver.

“How bad was it?” he asks through chuckles.

“Hands were- in pants. Shirts were… basically gone. Why are you making me relive my trauma?”

“Ahh, Makki a freak. I called it.” Oikawa points at his friend with a shit-eating grin. “Nobody with hair like that likes vanilla sex.”

“Stop. You’re the worst.”

Oikawa tilts his head. “What’s wrong, Iwa-chan? Was that too freaky for you? I bet your favorite position is missionary. And you go to sleep as soon as you cum,” he challenges, grin still present but more playful than before.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi responds, but there’s no bite to his words. He’s smiling, too. “I heard the reason your ex dumped you was because you couldn’t even get it up until you watched videos of your own games.”

Pale stars wink at him from above. “I never had sex with her,” Oikawa admits, a little bummed by how this conversation has turned out.

Coughing on smoke, Iwaizumi sputters, “You’re a virgin!?”

Jolting, Oikawa looks around wildly to make sure no one was woken up by Iwaizumi’s very loud observation. “Shu-! Don’t say that so loud!” he stage-whispers, waving his hand at his friend. Fortunately, Hanamaki and Matsukawa stay asleep.

“Sorry, but you’re always surrounded by girls trying to smash. So, excuse me for being surprised.”

Ash crumbles off the end of the blunt onto Oikawa’s sheets. He brushes it off quickly with a muttered curse. “You’re not excused,” he responds, but doesn’t meet Iwaizumi’s eyes.

When he does, those green eyes are watching him with an unreadable expression. Oikawa doesn’t like this look on him. Usually, he can tell what he’s thinking. But now, it’s like he’s making sure to make himself less readable.

Here, sitting with barely a foot between them, sharing a blunt and secrets in the dark, Oikawa hasn’t felt more distant from his best friend. He’s close enough to touch, but is still just out of reach. Something’s different, but Oikawa can’t place what it is. Iwaizumi’s keeping a secret.

Oikawa stretches his leg out past Iwaizumi, grimacing at the ache from keeping it cramped for too long. His doctor made him start wearing the brace again. Though that was after scolding him for ten minutes about overworking himself. He’s supposed to do stretching exercises a few times a day and not keep it restricted. But he has more important things to do. Like smoke a fat blunt with his best bro.

“You okay? Aren’t you supposed to, like, get up and walk around every hour or something?” the best bro in question asks. His fingers ghost over Oikawa’s knee beside his own and settle just below the brace. His hand is warm, but his touch still leaves goosebumps.

“Yes, mom, but that doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m perfectly fine,” Oikawa answers, as if he knows better than a trained professional.

A scoff. “He has a doctorate, Shittykawa. He only wants the best for you.”

“Uh, no. If I keep getting hurt, I have to keep going back to him and then he gets more money.”

“Trust me. Nobody wants to see you more than they have to.”

“How mean of you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines, pouting at Iwaizumi. “And to think I’m letting you smoke and crash at my house.”

“Yeah, but it’s my weed.” His hand still rests on Oikawa’s leg, thumb now rubbing barely-there circles onto the skin.

With an exaggerated sigh, Oikawa says, “This argument has gotten us nowhere. You should just give in to me, already.”

As if Iwaizumi would ever give in to anything. He’s too pig-headed. “I’m not one of your fangirls,” he replies, “I’m not going to give you everything you want.”

While lifting his bottle of water to his lips, he locks eyes with Iwaizumi. “Maybe not everything.” He doesn’t miss those green eyes glance down to his exposed throat when he swallows.

Then, they jump to the street outside. “You think you’re more charming than you are. If any of those girls actually bothered listening to what you say instead of just watching how you say it, they’d bolt,” he mumbles, voice low.

“Maybe so,” Oikawa quips, “but I’ve charmed you.”

Iwaizumi watches a car pass on the street below. “You give yourself too much credit.”

He shrugs. “Perhaps.” Iwaizumi mouths the word ‘perhaps’ with an amused shake of his head. “Yet, you have to listen to me all the time and you’re still here. Whyever would that be?” He phrases the question innocently, pressing a thoughtful finger to his chin.

“Because if I wasn’t here, you’d be in a dark hole of self-loathing and you wouldn’t have any weed,” Iwaizumi answers rather bluntly. Can always count on him to be honest to a fault.

“Speaking of weed,” he says, looking down at the blunt in his hand, “I feel like we’ve been smoking this for hours.”

“It’s been, like, eight minutes.”

“It has?”

“How do you function without me?”

“I don’t,” Oikawa answers matter-of-factly. Iwaizumi gives him a look Oikawa would call surprise but it disappears as fast as it showed up. “Whenever you’re not around, I cease to function altogether and curl up in a corner and cry and wait for you to come back.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and huffs. “Dick.”

But Oikawa wasn’t ready to stop, just yet. “Honestly, I think I perform better without you around, Iwa-chan. You distract me.”

“Oh, yeah? How do I do that?”

Oikawa acts out a runway model’s strut with just his torso, shoulders moving to a nonexistent rhythm. “Walking around like you don’t know you have the nicest arms and prettiest eyes,” he says, then slumps back against the wall. “A tragedy, truly, that he doesn’t realize how distracting he is.”

The latter statement is said without much thought. After all, Oikawa is a good ten seconds of silence away from falling asleep. He nuzzles the window jamb with his forehead and opens his eyes to see why Iwaizumi hasn’t spoken yet. Those pretty eyes are gazing down at his forearms in confusion. In Oikawa’s half-asleep state, he muses that it looks pretty darn adorable.

“I hear the girls talking, you know.” At that, Iwaizumi looks up, eyebrows pinched a bit. “’Oh, Iwaizumi is so cute when he’s scowling. I can’t believe he’s never had a girlfriend, he’s adorable! I bet he’d treat me right.’” His voice jumps an octave to mock said girls. “They’re wrong. You’re horrible and you treat people terribly.”

“I treat you terribly,” Iwaizumi corrects and points the blunt at Oikawa. “Because if I didn’t, you’d think you’re the shit, which you aren’t.”

“I am the shit.”

Shaking his head and suppressing an amused grin, Iwaizumi takes the last hit of the roach. Blowing the smoke out of his nose, he snuffs it out in the ashtray and flicks it out of the window. Another problem for future Oikawa. “Nah,” he says, “you’re just a shit.”

The warmth on his knee, where Iwaizumi’s fingers were, disappears. He watches Iwaizumi climb onto his knees to dump the ashtray out onto the lawn. Then, he slides the window down until it’s only open an inch. “Don’t let me forget that when I leave tomorrow,” Iwaizumi says.

Whether he means the open window or something else, Oikawa isn’t sure. Either way, he offers an absent, “Mm.” He’s already sinking into the warm blankets of his bed.

“You’re gonna sleep in those clothes?” Iwaizumi asks like he already knows the answer.

Oikawa groans, “Ugh. You’re such a mom.”

Not that he doesn’t appreciate it, because he does. Contrary to what he’d just told Iwaizumi seconds ago, he’s sure he’d be off much worse without him. When he looks up to Iwaizumi, standing beside the bed, he’s pulling his shirt over his head. From where he’s lying, Oikawa can see every line of muscle over his shoulders, down his back. A sight that’s just as good as the first, no matter how many times it’s seen.

“You still have that hoodie I left here a few weeks ago?” Iwaizumi’s voice jars Oikawa out of his daze. No, he wasn’t just ogling his best friend’s back. Only he was, a little.

“That one with Mothra on it?”

“The one and only.”

“Middle right drawer.”

Drawers open and close. “It was the middle left drawer. Learn your lefts and your rights, dumbass.”

Oikawa whimpers. “Don’t kill my vibe.”

Then, the blankets are thrown aside and hands grab Oikawa’s arms. Despite his verbal, incoherent protests, Iwaizumi pulls him into a sitting position. “Come on, you’re gonna be horrible in the morning if you sleep in those pants,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

Grinning lazily with half-closed eyes, Oikawa quips, “Trying to get my pants off, Iwa-chan? At least buy me dinner, first.”

Some more shuffling in his drawers. “You’re too tired to get your clothes off, but not too tired to be an ass?” Iwaizumi counters. Oikawa hears the smile in his voice.

“Mhm.”

“I’m not changing your clothes for you, Trashkawa. You’re an adult.”

He looks up to see the oversized tee that Iwaizumi throws in his face. There’s a big green cartoon alien head on it. “Not by choice,” he grumbles.

The sigh surprises Oikawa. “We don’t get to choose a lot of things,” he hears. The comment is cryptic and probably not something Oikawa was supposed to hear. If he squinted, Oikawa would say it almost sounds sad.

Oikawa shucks off his pants and shirt and throws them towards the hamper. They thump against the ground a few feet away. While he pulls the alien shirt over his head, Iwaizumi has the audacity to snatch a blanket from the bed and throw it over Hanamaki and Matsukawa. To be expected, from the mom friend.

When Iwaizumi crawls under the covers beside Oikawa, he’s wearing only boxers and the Mothra hoodie. It’s red, which Oikawa can’t help but acknowledge looks good against his tan skin. He always pulled off warmer colors better. He settles less than a foot away from his friend, hands behind his head while he stares at the ceiling. Oikawa looks up to see what he’s looking for, but finds nothing.

Cold air drifts in through the cracked window. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of Oikawa’s skin, whether it’s covered or not. “Just close the window,” he mumbles sleepily, burying his nose in the pillow.

“You want your room to smell like weed?” Iwaizumi asks, knowing damn well he doesn’t.

Oikawa gives pause. “No.”

“Then deal with it.”

With a hmph!, Oikawa scoots closer to Iwaizumi until his head rests on his shoulder. He throws a lazy arm over his middle. To warm his chilly toes, he finds a perfect heater in Iwaizumi’s feet. Their knees knock against each other when Oikawa tangles their feet together.

“God, your feet are freezing,” Iwaizumi complains, yet he doesn’t try to move away.

“Mmm. Toasty,” Oikawa mutters and presses his icy feet against his friends.

This time, Iwaizumi wriggles a little. “You could always, I don’t know, put on sweatpants,” he suggests.

Oikawa tsks. “You just tried to get me out of my clothes and now you want me to put on more clothes? I’m getting mixed signals here, Iwa-chan,” he murmurs with a smile. Oh, he makes teasing so easy.

“You never quit, do you?” Iwaizumi responds. He shifts his arm below Oikawa’s head to fit better around his shoulders.

“Not for you.” He can still smell the soft scent of lavender from Iwaizumi’s shampoo. That, coupled with the steady heartbeat in his ears, is more than enough to help him fall asleep. “Besides, why would I get up and do stuff when I have you? Best space heater on the market.”

Chuckles from deep in Iwaizumi’s chest rumble against his ear. “Smoke my weed and then steal my warmth, huh?” Iwaizumi jokes.

“Mmm, yeah, I’m sure you’re suffering so much right now.”

Iwaizumi is silent after that. Cracking an eye open, Oikawa looks up at him. The same unreadable expression he’s seen more than enough for one night is pointed at the ceiling. He’s gazing at the ceiling like it has answers for them, but they’re not what he wants. Oikawa’s about to make a joke to snap him out of his funk when he speaks himself.

His tone is soft, like the silence is fragile. “I have a date.”

A sharp pain pierces Oikawa’s heart. Yet, when he touches his chest, there’s nothing there. “Oh?” he says, because he’s sure that’s all he can say without his voice giving out.

“Yeah. This girl, Fumiko, confessed to me before practice today. I think I’m going to take her up on it.”

So, that’s the secret he’d been keeping. Oikawa doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. All he can hear is ‘date date date date’ repeating like a mantra bouncing around his skull. Iwaizumi looks down at him. “You awake?” he whispers.

“…It’s funny.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows pull together. “What is? That a girl might actually like me?” he asks, suddenly defensive.

“That you’re going to date her, but you’re here in bed with me,” Oikawa explains, though neither of them laugh. Because it isn’t funny.

There are a few beats of silence. Steady breathing hums against Oikawa’s ear and he drags his hand from Iwaizumi’s side to his navel. For a moment, the steady breathing stutters. “Are you...” Iwaizumi starts. “…upset with me?”

“No,” Oikawa answers honestly. He’s not upset with Iwaizumi, anyway. “I’m happy for you. Just hope she’s okay with being second best.”

Neither say anything. The THC can’t dull this new pain in Oikawa’s chest. He’s being stupid, he tells himself. There’s no reason for him to be upset. Iwaizumi’s still going to be friends with him. He was just saying he wants to follow Oikawa to university. Nothing will change; they’ll still be best friends.

It doesn’t ease the ache.


	2. in hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a challenger appears! also shit goes down

When there was nobody, there was Iwaizumi. He’s been the one constant in Oikawa’s life, besides volleyball and family. He came into Oikawa’s life one day, sat down, and refused to leave. No matter how many times Oikawa annoyed the hell out of him. He’s his best friend. For a while, he was his only friend.

Oikawa loves him. Any fool can see that. (Too bad Oikawa’s blind.)

He thought he’d be okay. He figured he was overreacting. He woke up the next morning, limbs tangled with his best friend’s. In the morning light, bleary-eyed and barely awake, Iwaizumi had looked down at Oikawa in his arms and smiled. It was the softest smile he’d seen in awhile.

It calmed the unease in Oikawa’s heart. However, it caused a whole new sensation the medical professionals refer to as ‘butterflies.’

Nothing changes, really. They still walk to school together. They still talk to each other between periods. They still eat lunch together. They still ignore most others to be around each other. Nothing changes.

Until everything does.

“This is Fumiko,” announces Iwaizumi, as if an introduction is necessary.

She stands before Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki from where they sit at the desk they’re sharing. Oikawa knew something was up when Iwaizumi hadn’t shown up moments after the lunch bell to share the lunch period with them. Now the girl was standing before them, all 5’4” of her, flashing white teeth at them. Of course, she’s gorgeous.

When they only stare, Iwaizumi continues, “Fumiko, this is-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” she cuts him off. “Let me guess. Hanamaki.” She points to Hanamaki. “Matsukawa.” She points to Matsukawa. Her eyebrows draw together when she looks at Oikawa. “Sorry, I don’t know if I know you.”

And she’s funny. Hanamaki and Matsukawa sputter nearby, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi informs her, leaning closer a few inches.

She drops her hand and chuckles. “Yeah, I know. You don’t get to be a girl at this school and _not_  know who you are, Oikawa,” she says, sending that dazzling smile his way.

Matsukawa whistles a low note. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Iwaizumi,” he teases.

But Iwaizumi isn’t listening to them. His attention is fixed on Oikawa, giving him a funny look. Oikawa’s been quiet this entire time, taking in his new girl in front of him. Fumiko’s undeniably pretty, with her shoulder-length light brown hair and pale complexion. The way she carries herself, too, can only be described as confident.

Her eyes move from Iwaizumi to Oikawa. The former’s eyebrows pinch together. Oh. Oikawa’s being weird.

Despite the sinking in his chest, Oikawa’s mouth spread into a wide grin. Time to crank the charm up to 110%. “Boy, you are gorgeous.”

He stands, ignoring the way Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Oikawa takes her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. He makes sure to look up at her through his lashes. “Why ever would you be wasting your time with Iwa-chan?” he asks, his voice sickeningly sweet. 

She doesn’t look impressed. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, is giving him a hard look. “I think I can decide for myself who I spend my time on and with,” she says, crossing her arms.

Oikawa isn’t listening. He gives her a languid onceover he knows makes other girls fluster. She doesn’t react. To Iwaizumi, he drawls, “I think you found a winner, here.”

She hums. “I think I’m the one who found a winner.” 

Iwaizumi drops the hard look he’s giving Oikawa to look at Fumiko with softer eyes. Heat rises to Oikawa’s cheeks, but he keeps smiling at her. He takes his seat again, appetite forgotten.

“I hope you understand,” Matsukawa steps in, pointing his chopsticks at Fumiko, “the weight of what you’re doing, stealing Iwaizumi from the volleyball team.” He means from Oikawa. Everyone knows that.

Her small shoulders bounce in a nonchalant shrug. “Whatever the consequences, I’m sure I can take it.” Her eyes are piercing, like she caught the meaning of his statement.

The three in their seats exchange looks. Fumiko claps her hands, drawing their attention back to her, and smiles widely at them. “Okay. I have to go talk to my English teaching, but I’ll see you before practice?” she states, the latter part directed at Iwaizumi.

The smile he sends her twists Oikawa’s stomach. Suddenly, he can taste the tofu he’d eaten before they showed up. When she turns to his friends to wave goodbye, Oikawa sends her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was nice to meet you!” Matsukawa calls to her back.

Iwaizumi pulls a chair up to Oikawa’s desk and elbows him. “What’s your problem?” he asks gruffly, smiles gone. He doesn’t look angry, really. Annoyed, maybe, but not angry.

Playing dumb, Oikawa answers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Hanamaki and Matsukawa share a glance. Iwaizumi exhales and rubs at this temple. “Okay. Let me clarify. Why did you just shamelessly flirt with my girlfriend in front of me?” he accuses.

Oikawa shrugs, because he has nothing snarky to say, and bites into a baby carrot form his lunch. Now he’s the one that can’t look his best friend in the eye.

“Well, could you not?” Iwaizumi says when he realizes he won't get a response.

“Iwa-chan, that’s like asking a duck not to quack or a horse not to kill.”

To defuse the growing tension, Matsukawa cuts in, “She seems cool.”

“Yeah,” Hanamaki joins in. “Seems confident without being arrogant.”

Oikawa scoffs. “What? Got something to say?” Iwaizumi asks, on the defense. After taking a moment to study his face, Oikawa shakes his head. 

Somethings changed. Oikawa can’t place his finger on exactly what, but something. Iwaizumi usually contributes to whatever dumb conversation the others are having. But now he’s sitting eating his lunch quietly, gazing at his lap. He spends the rest of the lunch period like that. They leave when the period ends, and Oikawa is relieved.

 

* * *

 

When the day’s over, Iwaizumi says he’ll see them at practice and disappears. “The hell’s he going?” Hanamaki questions, shoving his hands in his pockets and leading the way toward the gym.

“Probably to go hang out with his new _girlfriend_. Who does she think she is, anyway? And what the hell did that mean, ‘You can’t be a girl at this school and not know who you are?’” Oikawa crosses his arms and pouts.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes and presses his lips together. “Well,” he starts, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Oikawa, but girls like you. Crazy, innit?”

“Absolutely mad,” Matsukawa interjects.

“Positively absurd.”

“One might even go so far as to say,” he pauses, “kooky.” 

“This,” Oikawa says, pointing between them. “I don’t appreciate this.”

Matsukawa stretches his arms over his head. “To be frank with you-“

“I thought your name was Issei,” Hanamki cuts in.

“-I’m happy for him. He’s been caught up with…” he trails off, waving his hands around in a wild gesture. “I’m glad he’s finally getting out there again. Moving on." 

Moving on? Moving on from what? Or who? Tipping his head back to look at the sky, Hanamaki adds, “As much as it disturbs me to actually see him smile, I concur.”

Their coach is standing by the front doors of the gym as they approach. “Wow. Amazing. I’ve suddenly gone deaf,” Oikawa says to his friends.

“Oikawa!” the coach calls when they’re in earshot. “Ten laps around the gym. Now.”

“Why!?”

“Yesterday.”

“It wasn’t even my oatmeal!” he calls, throwing his arms up in outrage. He looks to his friends for help. “Guys, back me up.”

With a wicked grin, Hanamaki replies, “Wow. Amazing. I’ve suddenly gone deaf.”

Oikawa’s finishing the tenth lap when Iwaizumi approaches the gym. He’d thrown off his shirt by the 6th lap, despite the chilly breeze. Fumiko’s at Iwaizumi’s side and there’s a bottle of water in his hand. “I’m sorry I can’t walk you home,” he hears Iwaizumi say to her.

She shrugs with one shoulder. “That’s okay. I’m sure I can handle myself alone for the next ten minutes,” she assures with a grin. He rubs that back of his neck and looks down, pink dusting his cheeks.

“Oh, thank God. I’m dying,” Oikawa says as he runs up to them. He plucks the water bottle from Iwaizumi's hand, who doesn’t protest, and chugs half of it. While he does so, he maintains eye contact with Fumiko, who narrows her eyes playfully at him. He's aware of how he looks, shiny with sweat and lean muscles defined under his pale skin. He's hot and he knows it.

“Practice hasn’t even started and coach is already making you run laps?” Iwaizumi jokes, giving him a teasing push. Looks like his mood from lunch is gone.

He wipes away some water dripping down his chin. “I’m being punished for events that were outside of my control,” he explains, taking a moment to breathe.

“You mean the oatmeal incident?”

“How was I supposed to know that Yahaba would throw his oatmeal everywhere when I _accidentally_  served the ball towards him? Why was he eating oatmeal!?” Water sloshes out of the water bottle when Oikawa throws his hands up.

“Oatmeal incident?” Fumiko questions. Oh, right. She’s there.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows lift a fraction, like he forgot she was there, too. “Oikawa was serving and Yahaba was eating oatmeal on the other side of the gym during a break. Got hit by the ball. Oatmeal went everywhere. It was a mess,” he explains to her, then looks back to Oikawa. “It was kinda funny, seeing him panic. I almost thought he was going to cry.”

“It was an accident, I swear,” Oikawa promises, placing a hand over his heart.

Fumiko looks Oikawa up and down with lifted eyebrows. “Oh, I’ve seen you play, Oikawa. Even I know you wouldn’t miss a serve,” she teases, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Careful, Fumiko-san, or someone might think you’re flirting with me,” he hums. Iwaizumi gives him a look that he counters with a sly quirk of his lips. He’s joking, he swears.

She only rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath, “Wouldn’t be caught dead.” She turns to Iwaizumi. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says and rises onto the balls of her feet to give him a peck on the cheek.

Oikawa watches Iwaizumi watch her leave. His cheeks burn and he frowns at his friend. “Close your mouth, Iwa-chan, or you’re gonna catch flies,” he teases without much playfulness in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up and put your shirt back on,” Iwaizumi grumbles and pushes Oikawa again. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Feigning innocence, Oikawa says, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re accusing me of.” He grabs his shirt from where he'd discarded it by the front door and pulls it over his head.

Iwaizumi tousles Oikawa’s hair when it pops out of his shirt. “Get inside, loser, before Coach makes you run more laps.”

“What took you so long with her?”

That question gets him a look from Oikawa like he’s trying to read him. He’s not calculus homework; he wishes Iwaizumi would stop doing that. “Why do you care?”

“You’re my best friend, Iwa-chan,” he explains while avoiding his eyes. “I just want to know if I should be giving you a high-five for getting a handy behind school.” He makes a shaking gesture with his hand, fist closed.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes so hard, Oikawa’s sure it hurts. “God, you’re disgusting. I was just talking to her,” he tells him, voice gushing exasperation.

“All you had to say,” Oikawa responds with a quiet voice. Part of him is relieved that all they did was talk.

 

* * *

 

“It’s crazy,” Oikawa says during a break, sitting against the wall. Iwaizumi’s left to use the bathroom, so it’s just him, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. “I was shirtless in front of her and she didn’t react at all. She’s gotta be, like, a lesbian or something.” 

Without taking his eyes off of where Matsukawa is practicing his serve, Hanamaki replies, “Is it so crazy to believe that- and hear me out- maybe this is a girl that just isn’t attracted to you?”

“Yes.”

A volleyball appears in Oikawa’s line of vision. “Can you hold this?” Hanamaki questions, now on his knees in front of the boy.

“Sure, why?” Oikawa consents, taking the ball in his own hands. It’s just a normal volleyball.

Now that Hanamaki’s hands are free, he slaps both of them on either side of Oikawa’s face. His cheeks smush together. “Look, I know that-“ Hanamaki starts, but Matsukawa cuts him off.

“Ooh, are we talking some sense into him?”

“In the middle of it,”

“Oof. My bad. Carry on,” Matsukawa says and goes back to serving.

“I know that you’re not used to not having Iwaizumi’s attention 24 hours in a day, but can you get your head out of your ass for at least one practice so you can lead your team?” Hanamaki asks, taking the tough love approach.

He’s right, Oikawa knows. He’s better than this. This petty complaining over Iwaizumi’s new girlfriend. So, he nods to Hanamaki.

“Wow, that actually worked?” Matsukawa asks when Hanamaki drops his hands and sits back again.

“I think I actually got through to him,” he states in disbelief.

Oikawa rubs his cheeks. “Ouch…”

Iwaizumi decides to return at that moment, looking rightfully confused. “What happened here?” he asks all of them. To Oikawa, he adds, “You okay?”

“He’s fiiiiine,” Hanamaki answers for him and gives him a pat on the shoulder. “We just needed to get him out of his head. You’re okay, right, Oikawa?”

“You’re horrible friends,” is all he answers.

Hanamaki gives Iwaizumi a shrug. “See? He’s fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but shrugs it off and joins Matsukawa to practice receives. Maybe they’re right. Maybe Oikawa just needs to get out of his head.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week passes like this: 

They still talk in class, but Iwaizumi eats lunch in Fumiko’s classroom. Which, consequently leaves Oikawa to eat alone with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. At least they don’t ditch him for each other.

Iwaizumi hangs out with Fumiko before practice. If she makes the mistake of walking him to the gym, Oikawa is usually there to flirt shamelessly with her. (And get rejected.)

  
They walk home together, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Though, as the week progresses, it feels less and less okay. 

Oikawa tries to keep his complaining to a minimum. After all, if he’s going to university, he should learn to live a little without Iwaizumi. Even if they go to the same place, it doesn’t mean they’ll take the same classes. It makes sense, in his head, to gain some independence.

That doesn’t keep the empty feeling in his heart from growing. The spot Iwaizumi used to fill. It’s hard, though, to feel neglected by his oldest friend. The one who always made sure Oikawa knew he would be there for him.

But he doesn't say anything. He holds it in. And every morning, when he wakes up, he feels that space grow a little emptier.

 

* * *

 

After practice one day, Oikawa stays late to work a bit more. Iwaizumi looks like he wants to stay, like usual, to make sure Oikawa doesn’t hurt himself. However, he told Fumiko he’d stop by her house to study after practice. He gives Iwaizumi friend a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and assures him that Matsukawa’s there, so what could possibly go wrong?

His sour mood after that doesn’t go unnoticed by Matsukawa. “You okay? You seem bummed,” he asks.

“Hunky dory.”

“I mean… You can’t blame him. Wouldn't you ditch him too, sometimes, if you got a girlfriend?”

“I didn’t,” Oikawa mumbles. 

They spend a few minutes passing to each other, until the ache in his knee gets to be too much. He sits down to do some stretches to ease the pain. It doesn’t do much to help. Matsukawa takes a seat a few feet away and tells him, “You should really stay off of it for a little bit. At least a few days. If you work yourself too hard now, you might fuck yourself over in college.”

“If I stop now, I’m pretty sure I’ll drown,” Oikawa responds, bending at the waist and grabbing the bottoms of his feet. “We have another practice match against Karasuno next week and I’m not letting that little bitch Kageyama beat us.”

“It’s just a practice match. It doesn’t count towards the season,” Matsukawa reasons, leaning back on his elbows.

Not listening to him, Oikawa continues, “They won’t even know what hit 'em.” He leans back against the wall, taking sips from his water bottle.

Absently, he wonders what Iwaizumi’s doing. Probably making out with Fumiko. Kissing her with those lips that had just been on Oikawa’s, so soft, just a few days ago. Oikawa shakes the image out of his head, his gut twisting.

“This is about Iwaizumi, right?” Matsukawa asks, turning onto his side and propping his chin up on his hand. He'd always been too observant for his own good.

“What makes you think that? The world doesn’t revolve around Iwaizumi.” His does.

Matsukawa gives him a small smile. “He’s the only person who can bum you out like this,” he explains, voice sympathetic.

“False. I get bummed when we lose.”

His friend rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but when we lose you start to obsessively overwork yourself. Right now, you’re just… a bummer. Like a little slug.”

Placing a hand over his heart, Oikawa deflects, “It means a lot to me, Mattsun, that you know me so well.”

“So, it’s about Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa declares, a knowing look on his face. Oikawa doesn’t say anything; he just sips his water and stares at the waxed hardwood. “Look, Oikawa, we all know you love Iwaizumi-“

“I love all of you guys,” he cuts in.

“Not in the same way. It’s okay, bud. There’s nothing wrong with that. But…” He trails off, his eyebrows drawn together. He’s trying hard about what he wants to say. “He’s happy.”

The breath Oikawa lets out is shaky. The very acknowledgement brings back the now-familiar ache in his chest. Yet, Matsukawa continues. “He’s happier than he’s been in a while. And you’re his best friend. He loves you. It’s not fair for you to keep… trying to ruin this for him.”

He starts. “I’m not trying to ruin it for him,” he defends, narrowing his eyes at the floor, unable to meet Matsukawa's eyes. His eyes always have a habit of saying too much.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

Oikawa’s silent. He looks up to Matsukawa, who’s giving him a sympathetic look. “Can we just hit some balls around?” he huffs, climbing to his feet. “I’m sick of thinking.”

Chuckling, Matsukawa nods. “Sure thing. We can do that.”

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, Oikawa’s had enough of it. He reaches the end of his rope. 

His plug, a Seijoh graduate from the year before him, hits him up for the weed he asked for a few days ago. “How’d your boyfriend?” he asks. His name is, like, Sagawa or something. His name in Oikawa’s phone is just ‘Drug Dealer (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿̿)’ and the guy never remembers his name, either.

Oikawa sputters from his spot in the passenger’s side of his plug’s car. He _was_  counting out singles to give him, but stops in favor of giving him an incredulous look. “ _Whomst_?!”

“The- uh. The shorter one,” he says and pinches his index finger in thumb together, leaving an inch of space between them. “Spiky hair. Ichiro?”

“Iwa-chan? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me,” the guy shrugs and glances around the parking lot they’re parked in.

Oikawa pauses, his curiosity getting the better of him. What can he say? He loves attention. “Why do you say that?” he asks, starting over his count.

“You guys were basically attached at the hip when I still went to Seijoh. Figured something would’ve happened by now. The way he looked at you…” he trails off and takes a puff of his cigarette. “Hard to find that, I guess.”

“…This is a weird conversation to be having with my drug dealer. Can I have my weed?” Oikawa asks, holding the singles out to offer them.

His plug fishes a film canister out of his pocket and holds it out with a big smile. “Five grams, pre-measured for your convenience,” he explains.

Through narrowed eyes, Oikawa gives him a wary look. He should probably check, but he would rather get out of the car as soon as possible. If it’s less than he paid for, then he only loses a few bucks. Big whoop. “Whatever. I’ll take your word for it,” he says and takes the canister when offered.

“Good luck with Itsuki!” his plug calls while he’s getting out of the car.

Later, in his room, the blunt he rolls is loose and won’t stay lit. He sits by his window, alone, while the sun sinks lower and lower. Saturday nights are when Iwaizumi and Oikawa always hang out. Every Saturday, without fail. They do whatever; sometimes they smoke and sometimes they watch TV and nap. It’s not specifically planned, but it’s something unspoken they do. A tradition.

Oikawa shoots Iwaizumi a text to let him know he bought trees to blow through. A knot of annoyance starts to grow in his chest, something the THC can’t get rid of. At the very least, Iwaizumi should send him a text to say he’s busy.

  
As the sun falls lower and there’s still no response, the knot festers. Sure, their Saturday hangouts are never set in stone, but they’re still something. 

(If Oikawa were to squint, he’d see that he isn’t annoyed at all. He’s hurt.)

He stays up until his phone dies. The bitterness in his chest lingers as he snuffs out the blunt and hides his stash in his closet. It lingers when he crawls under the covers in Iwaizumi’s sweatshirt, shivering because there’s no body next to him to keep him warm. When he wakes up Sunday morning, it’s still there.

 

* * *

 

There’s something they don’t tell you about how to get cats to approach you: they like when you can get on their level. If you crouch down until you’re almost eye-to-eye, they’re more than happy to socialize. After all, wouldn’t you run from something standing over you? 

Oikawa scratches the gray kitty between the ears. There’s a dull throb in his knee, but he ignores the pain. She mews and butts her hand against his hand. With a soft smile, he strokes down her back. Her fish-shaped tag says ‘Aki.’

“Hey! You didn’t wait for me.”

Oikawa looks up to see Iwaizumi jog toward him. He has his volleyball bag secured over his shoulder and an easy smile on his face. Oh, yeah. He was going to Sunday practice before he’d gotten distracted. The distraction purrs and rubs her head against his open palm.

“Why would I wait for you?” Oikawa asks. The kitty bolts away when Iwaizumi walks closer. He stands and keeps walking the way he was before, without waiting for the other boy.

“I don’t know,” Iwaizumi answers, walking faster to catch up. “We always walk together.”

“You didn’t ask me to wait.”

“What’s wrong? What’s your deal? You’ve been off all week,” Iwaizumi asks, though it sounds more like a demand. By reflex, Oikawa almost makes a snarky statement of Iwaizumi's observation skills. He bites his tongue.

He tries to step ahead of Oikawa to look him in the face, but he keeps his eyes down. “Why are you here, Iwaizumi? Why aren’t you with your girlfriend?” Oikawa asks.

At first, Iwaizumi stutters at the use of his name, rather than a nickname. That surprise is replaced with annoyance within seconds. “We have practice, dumbass,” he says, like it’s the only reason why he’s not with her. 

“So?” Oikawa shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’ve had no problem ditching people before.”

“Hey, look at me.” Iwaizumi grabs his arm to stop him and turns him around. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

His eyes jump from the ground to Iwaizumi’s face, piercing. “You ignored my text.”

Surprise pulls Iwaizumi’s eyebrows up toward his hairline. “What?” he mutters to himself and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck, I didn’t see it. I went to the movies with Fumiko and her friends. Why didn’t you say anything before?”

With a shrug, Oikawa responds, “I didn’t think I had to.” He turns and keeps walking.

“This is about Fumiko?” Iwaizumi phrases it like a question. He follows him, crowding around him to try to get more of his attention.

“God,” Oikawa groans. “Get over yourself. Not everything is about Fumiko.” It is about Fumiko, but fuck him for assuming.

Iwaizumi is still watching him, he spots out of the corner of his eye. He’s waiting for Oikawa to elaborate further. This flip-flopping of his between ‘open book’ and ‘different fucking language’ is testing Oikawa's patience. “It’s different now,” he says, voice lower than he means.

The wrinkle between his eyebrows becomes more pronounced. “Nothing’s changed.” He shakes his head. “We still talk all the time. I’m still the same me.”

“No,” Oikawa whispers. Then, more firmly, “You’re not.”

“Stop,” Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s arm again to stop him, voice gruff, “walking away from me. You’re getting on my nerves.”

He can’t hold it in anymore. His feelings are water, spilling over the edge of an overfilled sink.  He’s drowning in them. “I thought I could deal with it. Tried to be happy for you. I figured, with time, it would get easier,” he starts with a wavering voice, “but it’s not.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making sense.”

With a shaky breath, Oikawa laughs like it’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. “I really did try, Iwa-chan. You’re happy and I wanted to be happy because of it, but every time I saw you happy it just felt worse.”

There’s a fire under his cheeks. Whatever is causing it, he doesn’t know. Could be a number of things: anger, jealousy, sadness, or the fact that he’s trying really hard not to cry. “But I can’t hide how I feel anymore. I can’t ignore it.”

Like a dark cloud passing in front of the sun, realization washes over Iwaizumi’s face. Then, just as fast, it’s replaced with stony anger. Green eyes Oikawa has loved since forever turn down to the ground, like he can’t stand to look at his best friend. “Don’t,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t do this.”

He can see it coming. The storm. So can Oikawa, but he can’t stop it from happening.

“I’m in love with you.”

“No.” That isn’t a whisper. It’s loud. Hard. It’s a word, but it hits Oikawa with as much force as the ace’s spikes. His lips, so soft against Oikawa’s only a week before, screw up with rage. “You don’t get to do this.”

Oikawa’s never heard him like this. Iwaizumi’s never looked at Oikawa like this, lips turned down and eyes tight. “You don’t get to fuck me over just because I’m not giving you my full attention,” he spits, but instead of words it’s bullets.

Bullets that tear through Oikawa’s flesh, through his heart, taking a bit more of him with each shot. In this moment, for the first time in Oikawa’s entire life, he’s entirely sure Iwaizumi hates him. He never thought that would be a possibility, but suddenly eighteen years of friendship are null.

Iwaizumi doesn’t stop there. “What? Did you think I’d just fall all over myself for you because you suddenly feel something not completely superficial?” Oikawa isn’t sure how he looks, but he knows how he feels. Shocked. Devastated. Whatever is showing, Iwaizumi laughs at it, a short harsh syllable.

“And you think I’d ditch Fumiko at the drop of a hat or something? What would make you think I’d dump her for someone who keeps people strung along for as long as they’re useful to you? As long as they inflate your ego? As long as they make you feel a little less fucking alone? For someone… What makes you think I’d leave her for you?”

People have called Oikawa a multitude of names, trying to assign to him their own ideas of him. He’s been called shallow, narcissistic, egocentric, selfish, vain, arrogant, and more he doesn’t bother to remember. It’s like people look up ‘greedy’ in a thesaurus and list off all the synonyms to describe him. Usually he brushes it off, because he knows they don’t know him.

But Iwaizumi knows him. He knows Oikawa better than anybody else on the planet. Iwaizumi knew, or at least OIkawa thought he knew, him better. After all, Iwaizumi’s the only one he’s let himself be vulnerable with. The only one he’s trusted with his deepest insecurities. The only one who knows just how terrified he is of not being good enough.

That same one is now spitting back every insecurity, every vice, every flaw, right back in his face. Listing them off as the reasons why he isn’t good enough. It’s cruel, really. A simple ‘no’ would’ve been more than enough.

Still, Iwaizumi has more fire to throw at him. Oikawa can’t claim to be listening, though. He can’t hear much more than his weak, shaky breath and his heart in his ears. Somehow, it’s still beating.

“You don’t get to have your _big realization_ -“ he curls his index and middle fingers to make air quotes around the words, “right as I’m getting over you.”

At the last statement, Oikawa somehow gets out, “what?” He must have heard that wrong.

Through bleary eyes, he sees Iwaizumi look him up and down. There’s no more heat in his eyes, just ice. “That’s fucked up. Even for you.”

Then he walks away. Oikawa’s left to drown.

Hot tears spill over, leaving burning streaks down his cheeks. He presses the heel of his hand into his mouth to stop the sobs trying to claw their way out of his throat. He stumbles back until his thigh hits the edge of a wall, leaning against it before his knees give out.

The pain that took residence in his chest a week ago is now in all his limbs and his joints. It’s heavy, pulling him down toward the ground. It squeezes his chest, where his heart is still pumping. Oikawa doesn’t know how it has the strength to go on when everything else wants to stop.

He presses his palms to his eyes. Not only was he rejected by the one person he loves more than volleyball, but he also lost his best friend. Who is going to the same practice he is right now. Who he will have to see again in only a few minutes.

Aki mewls _brrrp!_  by his leg and butts her head against his calf.

When there was nobody, there was Iwaizumi. Now he’s gone, too.


	3. there's heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this just in: teenage boys are shit at communication

Iwaizumi is everywhere. He’s in the shirts stuffed into the back corners of Oikawa’s drawers. He’s in the pictures pinned to his walls. He’s in the memories embedded in everything he sees.

Oikawa didn’t realize how much Iwaizumi was in his life until he wasn’t.

Thumbing the old shirt Iwaizumi left behind, Oikawa takes a deep hit from the blunt. It was thrown aside one night that he slept over and forgotten here. He’s left plenty of his own clothes at Iwaizumi’s. Though, he doubts Iwaizumi’s looking at them and feeling the same way Oikawa is.

He sets the blunt carefully on the ashtray by his window. Without much thought, he pulls his own shirt off and tosses it away. He pulls Iwaizumi’s shirt over his head. It’s cold, fabric softened with time and good memories. Looks like that’s all he has now: memories.

The blunt makes its way back to his lips when he collapses back against his bed. He sucks in until his chest won’t expand any more. He holds it in; lets it burn his throat. Burn his lungs. Lets the smoke fill the empty space where Iwaizumi used to fit perfectly.

_Ding dong!_

Oikawa jumps, choking on the smoke and coughing. He looks out the window and spots Hanamaki and Matsukawa standing at his door. When he sees Hanamaki’s hand poised to ring the bell again, he opens his window and leans out.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” he calls, not caring if the neighbors get annoyed.

“Are you for real?” Hanamaki asks with his eyebrows hidden in his hairline, incredulity dripping from his voice.

“Uh, you told us to come over,” Matsukawa answers helpfully. He opens his phone and holds it up to show to Oikawa, like he can read it from where he’s hanging out his window. He recites the text, “’Parents gone. Bring weed.’”

That’s right, he’d texted them a half hour or so ago. At some point, he’d grown impatient and sparked up by himself. “Oh,” he says rather dumbly. “I did say that. Okay, gimme a sec.”

In a few minutes, the three are sitting on Oikawa’s bed together, sharing the last of his blunt between them. Matsukawa notices the constant shifting in his leg and asks, “How’s your knee?”

Oikawa shrugs. “Same as always.”

“You can’t keep staying late after practices. You need to rest more and stay off of it,” he instructs with a voice Oikawa’s heard plenty from his mother. He almost calls his friend mom to mock him, but Hanamaki talks before he can find the words.

“Yeah. I hate to say it, but if you’re on the bench, our chances of beating Shiratorizawa go from infinitesimal to nonexistent,” Hanamaki adds, busy trying to stuff pieces of weed back into the blunt that had fallen out. It’s another trash one that Oikawa didn’t get quite right. It’s better than the last one, though, so he’s counting that as a win.

“I don’t know what those words mean, but I’m going to take that as a compliment. So, thank you, Makki,” Oikawa responds with gratitude he isn’t sure is authentic or not.

Matsukawa jumps in again, “I agree with him. We need you in tip-top shape. Not just to play, but to boost morale, too. Not playing with our captain sucks, you know.” He takes the blunt from his secret boyfriend before he can ruin it more.

“Okay,” Oikawa relents. “Yeah. I’ll rest a little bit.”

The secret boyfriends, who still haven’t divulged their secret to one of their closest friends, share a look akin to surprise. They didn’t expect him to give up so easily. At this point, Oikawa doesn’t have much energy in him to fight anymore. His fight with Iwaizumi was stressful enough to last him another two lifetimes.

Matsukawa has the good sense to change the subject. “Where are your parents?”

“Left for a few days.”

  
“Days?” Hanamaki questions. He takes the blunt from Matsukawa, who’s been greedily babying it, and offers it to Oikawa. 

He takes it, because he needs it. He inhales deeply, then blows out through his nose. “Yeah, uh, my grandmother died. So, they went to see some family in Nigata, on the coast, to sort some stuff out,” he explains, flicking some ash off the end into the ashtray.

“Fuck,” Hanamaki mutters very eloquently.

Matsukawa opens his mouth, then closes it again. Apparently, he finds the words. “I’m sorry, Oikawa.”

The boy shrugs, because what else can he do? How do you respond to someone saying sorry for someone else’s death? Thanks? It never feels right to thank someone else for being sad, too. “It’s fine,” he says instead. “It’s okay. She was old and had cancer. We saw it coming.” As if that makes it hurt any less.

Just because you can see it coming, doesn’t make the impact any less intense. Knowing something is coming your way doesn’t slow it down.

They want to comfort him. He can see that. But he doesn’t want their comfort. The only person he wants to comfort him isn’t talking to him anymore. Yet, when Matsukawa squeezes his shoulder, he doesn’t complain. He gives them a smile. “It’s cool. Really. I already said goodbye a few weeks ago.”

“Say, where’s Iwaizumi?” Hanamaki asks, ignorant to what his innocent question entails.

It’s a spike through Oikawa’s heart. The pain is still fresh. After all, their fight was only the day before. Once Oikawa had put himself back together and gone to the practice, they spent the entire practice and after ignoring each other. Things had gone fine, for anyone who wasn’t Oikawa.

He still hasn’t told Hanamaki and Matsukawa. For one, because they’re also harboring a pretty major secret, themselves. For another, it’s not something easily brought up. _Oh yeah, My best friend I’ve known for my entire life heartlessly rejected my proclamation of love while mercilessly insulting me and then dropped me like a hot potato._  Not exactly a good conversation starter.

Oikawa shrugs, raising the blunt to his lips again. “Dunno.”

They don’t say anything about it after that. Maybe they’re more observant than Oikawa previously thought. Or maybe he’s been too caught up in himself to realize that others pay attention. He’s glad they’re his friends.

 

* * *

 

“You jumped through a lot of hoops to get me here,” Sugawara says, and Oikawa is caught for a moment at the absurdity of a volleyball player making a basketball reference. Or would it be a circus reference?

They’re sitting outside the Sakanoshita Store together. Oikawa shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back. “Yeah. And I hope it was worth it,” he states, eyebrows raised.

“Wow. I’ve been here for maybe thirty seconds and you’re already pushing it,” Sugawara responds, fixing his bag over his shoulder like he’s making to leave. “I didn’t have to come.”

“But you did.”

It’s refreshing to see Refreshing-kun something other than unbearably nice. Not that Oikawa doesn’t love seeing him act exceedingly kind, which he was by answering his text. “Whats up, Oikawa? Obviously, it’s important if you’re coming to me. It’s Monday, isn’t it? Do you still have practice today?”

They had the day off for some sort of federal holiday. However, as Coach Irihata loves to remind them, the grin never stops. Cancelled school doesn’t mean cancelled practice. “Yep, but I’ve been basically ordered to rest. I’m starting to think the title of captain is completely ceremonial.”

“Right, your knee. How’s that feeling? Would hate for something bad to happen to you right before our practice match,” Sugawara quips, eyes full of mischief but smile innocent.

“Planning on sabotaging me, Refreshing-kun?”

He shrugs. “Who could say?”

“Well, it _would_ be the only way you guys could even have a chance against us,” Oikawa responds, tilting his head and grinning at the boy.

“I could still leave.” Sugawara points down the road, in the direction he could go.

Oikawa throws up his hands in surrender to placate him. “Okay, okay. I’m just joking,” he says, unable to hold back a smile. This kid is fun.

Sugawara is placated, for now. He stretches his legs out in front of him and taps his shoes together. “Should you still be there? At practice? As the captain?” It’s like he needs to make it extra clear what he’s asking.

“I’m sure they can live one day without me. Not like we have anything important going on anytime soon.” It’s entertaining to see all the emotions play out on Sugawara’s face as he processes what Oikawa’s just said.

“You have a game against _us_ this week.”

“I said what I said.”

With a big sigh, like it’s very difficult for him to not up and leave, Sugawara asks, “Why are you talking to me and not, like, Iwaizumi or something? Aren’t you guys best friends?”

Oikawa would be impressed that the Karasuno setter remembers Iwaizumi’s name, but he’s too distracted by the ache in his chest at the sound of his name. His eyes turn down. “He’s ignoring me, right now.”

“Really?” The shock in his voice isn’t…well, a shock. Any fool could see Iwaizumi and Oikawa were the best of friends. Emphasis on were. “Why?”

“I royally fucked up.” It’s all Oikawa can say. Seems like a good enough explanation.

There’s a few beats of silence. Sugawara waits for Oikawa to explain. Oikawa doesn’t make a move to explain. Finally, he asks, “How?”

“I told him I’m in love with him.”

Now, there’s more than a few beats of silence. The silence lasts so long that Oikawa wonders, for a moment, if the other boy heard him. Then, he speaks. “You have other friends, don’t you? Why come to me with this? We’re not really that close. I didn’t even think we were friends.”

He’s really stuck on the fact that Oikawa has other friends. Holding back from rolling his eyes, Oikawa says, “I needed someone… completely separate from… it to talk to about it. You’re level-headed and rational and you don’t actively dislike me, so I figured you were the best choice.”

“Wow. Flattered.” Sugawara sounds decidedly not so. “You know I can’t really do anything to help, right? At the most, I can listen.”

“That’s all I need. If I keep anything else bottled up, I don’t know _what_ will happen.”

“Okay. Tell me what happened.”

Oikawa tells him everything. Iwaizumi’s girlfriend. Their argument. His feelings. Everything. “He’s completely ignoring me, now. I thought… He was my best friend. I thought I could trust him with anything. We’d always worked through everything together.”

He waits, watching Sugawara’s contemplative expression. “This is quite the pickle,” he says, tapping his chin in thought.

With a roll of his eyes, he responds, “Thanks, Confucius. You ever been told you have a way with words?”

Ignoring the sarcastic jab, Sugawara continues, “I mean, I understand where he’s coming from.” That’s not what Oikawa wants to hear, at all. He was hoping for more of a ‘that’s ridiculous and he should apologize to you asap as possible.’

“Nooo~” he whines, leaning toward the other boy with a hurt expression. Karasuno’s setter remains unmoved, his only reaction a quirk of his eyebrow. “Refreshing-kun! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“If he hadn’t gotten a girlfriend, would you have told him?”

A pause. Oikawa contemplates it. It wasn’t like he'd thought before he started blowing chunks in the shape of feelings. “I don’t know. Not like I really know my own feelings until he got a girlfriend.”

Pale eyebrows knit together. If Oikawa weren’t so sure Sugawara finds him incredibly annoying, he might assume the boy is sympathizing. “Yeah, well, can’t you understand why he might think you said this to retaliate against him for giving you less of his time? You’re not exactly the most… noble. It’s not farfetched to think you’d try to manipulate someone like that.”

That’s another word on the list of assumptions about who Oikawa is. Manipulative. This one, though, isn’t too far off its mark. But then again, manipulation is something most people do normally, himself included. Yet, the idea of manipulating anybody like Sugawara suggests only disgusts Oikawa.

“No, I… Definitely not Iwa-chan. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“He might not know that.”

He’s supposed to know Oikawa best, though. Surely, he’d understand that isn’t the case. Except, it already turned out he thought lower of Oikawa than previously expected. Maybe Oikawa should stop making assumptions about him, too.

“It’s bad enough that he’s ignoring me, but he’s always sucking face with her when I’m around,” he grumbles, leaning back on his hands and looking up to the sky.

Sometimes it’s before school, sometimes it’s after. Sometimes it’s before practice. Once, it was during. The day before, Iwaizumi forgot his water bottle in class and Fumiko was kind enough to drop It off for him. In the middle of the practice, as thanks for her sacrifice, Iwaizumi pulled her in for a deep kiss in front of the whole team.

The wolf-whistles from their teammates went unnoticed by him, but the gaze Oikawa leveled on him didn’t. When their eyes met, Iwaizumi gave him the smallest, coldest half-smile that twisted the knife in Oikawa’s chest. He knew what he was doing.

It’s only been a few days, but Oikawa’s seen enough of them together to last the rest of his life. “What?” Sugawara’s lips turn down in confusion. “That doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

Oikawa almost reminds him that he doesn’t know Iwaizumi, but refrains. “It’s not, Refreshing-kun! Exactly! It’s cruel,” he says instead.

“Fuck, Oikawa. This is sticky. I’m not sure what to tell you,” the other boy says, clapping Oikawa on the shoulder and giving his arm a squeeze.

Just his presence, listening, is enough. This kid is like a breath of fresh air after spending too long in a closed space. He’s the cool breeze after a hard workout. He doesn’t need to do anything to make someone feel better. He just has to be nearby. Oikawa smiles at him. “It’s fi-“

“You guys actually gonna buy something or you just gonna loiter?” the Karasuno coach asks, hanging out of the store’s door with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyebrows are lifted, expectant. Outside of the games, this guy seems barely older than them, Oikawa notices.

“You want a popsicle?” Sugawara offers, drawing Oikawa’s attention back to him. “On me, since you’re down in the dumps.”

“Uh, sure.”

Two minutes later, Sugawara sits down beside Oikawa and holds a pale blue popsicle out to him. “We might be destined to be rivals,” he hums, “but I do hope this works out for you.”

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Refreshing-kun,” Oikawa jokes, taking the popsicle.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sugawara warns. But, he’s smiling.

 

* * *

 

“Something’s not right,” Matsukawa muses aloud while he’s walking home with Hanamaki after another practice in which Iwaizumi and Oikawa stubbornly avoided each other.

“Yeah,” Hanamaki replies, shuffling through the pockets in his wallet. “I think my little brother stole money out of my wallet.”

“No, I mean with Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

This makes Hanamaki look up. He closes the wallet with a slap and shoves it into his back pocket again. “Hmm. Yeah, I guess. But we already knew that. Something’s been up with them since primary school.”

“Maybe,” he agrees with a side-nod, “but not like this. I don’t think I’ve seen them talk in a couple days. And remember how weird Oikawa was when we stayed the night?”

Hanamaki stretches his arms above him, then laces his fingers together behind his head. “Oikawa was upset Iwaizumi has a girlfriend. We knew that,” he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“But they were still talking. Until a few days ago, at least.”

With a thoughtful frown, Hanamaki _hmphs_. “Yeah. You might be right.”

“Plus, Oikawa’s been throwing himself way too hard into the practices,” Matsukawa reminds him. Today even, Oikawa had told them he wanted to practice a little longer and promised he’d be fine. “He’s going to hurt himself if he doesn’t ease up.”

“Okay, and what can we do about that?” It’s a rhetorical question. They can’t make Oikawa do anything, that’s well-known. The boy’s an unstoppable force.

Despite that, Matsukawa takes it seriously. This is his friend they’re talking about. “We’ve got to figure out what’s up, before it gets worse and starts affecting the team. And before Oikawa seriously injures himself.”

Hanamaki lets out a deep sigh. “Okay. How will we meddle?” he inquires, knowing damn well he can’t say no to Matsukawa, especially when he smiles that smile like you’ve handed him a puppy.

He turns that smile to Hanamaki, then, but it quickly morphs into a more devious grin. He can’t say that look on his boyfriend doesn’t turn him on a little. “You talk to Iwaizumi. Try to figure out what’s up. I’ll talk to Oikawa.”

“You know, you’re cute when you’re scheming.”

“Well, I’m about to be so fuckin’ adorable, they won’t know what hit them.”

 

* * *

 

Hanamaki’s investigation-slash-interrogation doesn’t go so well. Turns out, Iwaizumi isn’t just a brick wall when it comes to blocking.

“Iwaizumi, are you and Oikawa having an argument?"

“Nope.”

“You sure? You guys aren’t talking.”

“Can’t argue if we don’t talk.”

“You know what I mean.”

“There’s nothing going on, Hanamaki. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know you can talk to me-“

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“If there’s somethi-“

“Hanamaki. Drop it.”

“Yeah. Whatever."

He hopes Matsukawa is having better luck.

 

* * *

 

He is, actually, but not by much.

“What’s going on, Oikawa?” Matsukawa questions, handing the boy in question a water bottle and plopping down beside where he’s sitting against the wall.

Another practice where Oikawa promised to lock up when he’s done. This time, Matsukawa claimed he wanted to practice a little more, too. And that he didn’t want Oikawa to hurt himself so soon before a match. It was a ruse though, as he has much more sinister intentions.

“What are you talking about?” Oikawa asks and chugs half of the bottle.

There’s no use in easing into it. Maybe he catches him off guard, he’ll get more information. “There’s something going on between you and Iwaizumi.”

His brown eyes widen enough for it to be noticeable, then he looks down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, though it isn’t convincing.

“You can’t bullshit me, Oikawa.”

“I…” He pauses. Matsukawa leans over to see his face. Then, he gives him a wide smile and sings, “It doesn’t involve you, Mattsun, but thank you for the concern. It means a lot.” Just to be extra, he presses a hand to his sweaty chest.

“Uh, you’re on my team and you’re my friend, so when you’re down it becomes my business,” Matsukawa reasons, hoping he can use sweet words to get what he wants like Oikawa does.

With a tilt of his head, he deflects, “Aw, do you really mean it, Mattsun? We’re friends?”

“Oh, I’m starting to regret saying that.”

Oikawa laughs, though it dies quickly. Suddenly, he’s more somber, gazing at the floor with a vulnerable expression. “I thought… You know, I may never be enough for volleyball or all those girls or college, but I thought I was good enough for him,” he admitted cryptically.”

Did he say he wouldn’t be good enough for volleyball? That shocks Matsukawa into pausing. “What are you saying?”

Oikawa shrugs. When he gets to his feet, Matsukawa gets the impression of a heavy iron door slamming shut.

 

* * *

 

Karasuno comes to them for the practice match, like usual, in their little van. Oikawa spots them all falling out of it like it’s a clown car. It’s interesting to see the little shrimp and Kageyama bicker, but the humor falls a little flat without Iwaizumi to poke fun at them with.

Oikawa watches their captain, Daichi, lead them into the gym. Sugawara trails a few steps behind him. Their pinkies are linked together. When the latter spots Oikawa watching, he smiles and waves.

He waves back, a little blindsided by the gesture. Hanamaki catches the exchange, and throws an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. “You buddy-buddy with Karasuno now, Oikawa?” he leers with a grin.

With a scoff, he responds, “As if. Keep your friends close, right?” He feels bad when he says it, since he does sincerely like Sugawara. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots that unreadable expression he’s now well-acquainted with on Iwaizumi’s face.

“Why are we playing against Karasuno?” Kindaichi complains from where he’s lacing up his shoes on the ground. “Should we be preparing for a game that actually matters, like our game against Shiratorizawa?”

A few feet away, Kunimi groans. “God, I’m so not ready for Shiratorizawa. Have you seen their captain, Ushijima? I heard he once ate the word volleyball and nobody could use it for, like, a week.”

Oikawa laughs a few humorless syllables, holding a ball against his navel. “Don’t be ridiculous. Ushiwaka’s not a god. He’s a man,” he starts, gazing up to the ceiling dramatically. From somewhere nearby, Hanamaki groans. “And men can be defeated.”

A wild Sugawara appears. “Heh,” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck when he wanders up. “Uh, where’s the bathroom?”

None of the Seijoh players move, at first. They only stare at him, some gazes curious and others confused. Sugawara starts to color. “Uhh, it’s-“ Oikawa speaks up, dropping the ball on the ground. “I’ll just show you where it is. You nerds think you can handle a few mintues without me?”

He doesn’t wait for their response and leads the enemy setter out of the gym, toward the bathroom. When they’re alone, he turns to him. “I actually do need to use the bathroom,” Sugawara defends, as if he’s been accused of something nefarious. As if he's letting it be known this isn't a ploy to talk to him.

“So, you and Sawamura?” Oikawa asks, ignoring him. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head.

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head when Sugawara’s ears turn pink. With a nervous smile, he says, “Yeah, so?”

“Nothing,” he responds with a shrug. “Just surprised, is all.”

“Really?”

Oikawa throws his hands out. “Is everyone fucking dating, but me?”

“Kageyama and Hinata are dating, too.”

When Oikawa remembers Hinata is the shrimp, he exclaims, “For fucking real?”

“Mhm,” Sugawara hums, amused.

“Damn. He’s got to beat me at _everything_ , doesn’t he?”

Some girls pass by the pair in the hall. When they spot them, they giggle and wave. “Good luck today, Oikawa!” one of them says. They erupt into more excited giggles when he smiles and waves back at them.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he tells Sugawara, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to point at a door nearby.

“Thanks, Oikawa.”

Before Sugawara can get to the door, Oikawa asks, “Are we friends?” He isn’t sure what compels him to do it.

Shocked, Sugawara pauses. He looks up to Oikawa, eyes wide and eyebrows pulled together, and says, “I would hope so, considering you bared your soul to me a few days ago.”

“Cool, cool,” he says, nodding and shoving his hands in his pockets. He kicks a pebble that’s somehow found its way inside. “That’s cool. Don’t tell anyone.”

“What?” Sugawara’s eyes light up. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Well, I mean-“

“Ooh, this is scandalous. Going behind everyone’s backs. Keeping it a secret,” Sugawara teases, grinning at the other boy.

“Grown up, my God,” Oikawa complains, but he’s smiling. “What’s your snapchat?”

“You want my snapchat?” Sugawara asks, without making a move to take out his phone. “What an upgrade from Instagram DMs! What are we, Oikawa?”

Everything’s a game to him, isn’t it? Oikawa rolls his eyes and huffs. “God, is this what other people feel when they talk to me?” he wonders aloud, though it’s meant as a joke. It makes Sugawara laugh, which he counts as a win.

“Think you can find your way back?” Oikawa inquires once he’s successfully extracted Sugawara’s snapchat from him. The boy nods. “Alright. Good luck today.”

“You, too,” he responds when Oikawa turns to walk away. To his back, he adds, “Hey, got any pointers?”

Over his shoulder, Oikawa offers, “Don’t suck.”

 

* * *

 

Oikawa shouldn’t be playing, he’s well aware of that. Not only his doctor, but also his parents, coaches, and teammates won’t let him forget. He’s taken a few rest days, but those are definitely negated by the extended practices he’s been forcing himself through.

Shocks crackle through his bones with every jump he lands, shooting up from his knee. In his peripheral, he can see the confused looks Iwaizumi gives him every time he hisses from pain. During a slow moment, Matsukawa asks him if he needs to take a break, which he says no to. Because he’s fine. He’s perfectly fine.

Besides, Karasuno isn’t a match to be worried about. Not a match to put so much effort into. Maybe, also, not a match worth injuring himself further for. But, after all, he’s perfectly fine, so there’s nothing to worry about. Except it’s not as easy as he thought, whether it’s because of his own handicap or the improvement of his opponent.

Seijoh holds the lead through the first set, without much of a problem. If it’s just two sets, Oikawa will be fine. During a timeout, his coach asks, “How’s your knee?”

He shrugs. “It’s no problem,” he reassures, though he can still feel an ache when he puts no weight on it.

The coach trusts his word, but Iwaizumi fixes him with a look. “If it hurts, then sit one out,” he suggests with a blunt tone. Iwaizumi’s never been especially soft, but he’s colder, now.

“Why do you care?” Oikawa shoots back without looking up. It’s not meant to sound bitter, but it does. After all, Iwaizumi made himself perfectly clear that he, in fact, doesn’t care. You know, since he dropped Oikawa like a hot potato.

Iwaizumi looks a little surprised at the response at first, then his expression turns stony. “Don’t fuck _us_ over for _your_ pride,” he grumbles and turns away.

Is it really pride that’s driving Oikawa through the pain? Probably. Iwaizumi knows best, after all. Oikawa laughs bitterly through the dull ache in his chest. This one’s worse than any other pain in his limbs.

The ref blows his whistle and they’re out on the court, again. It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to serve. It’s a flawless, gorgeous jump serve. Of course it is, because it’s Iwaizumi. Karasuno’s libero receives it, but stumbles back a few steps. Watari sends it into the air.

“Iwaizumi!” Oikawa calls, because he wants this game to be over and he knows Iwaizumi will get them there.

There’s a grunt in response, but Oikawa doesn’t pay attention to his teammate. Iwaizumi’s in the air, then he is, too. He sets the ball to Iwaizumi, who blasts it through the arms of Karasuno’s first years. Oikawa celebrates, but not for long. When his feet hit the ground, he lands wrong.

There’s a pop.

Oikawa’s knees give out. Burning pain jolts through his knee. He cries out and grabs for whatever’s in his knee. Only, there’s nothing there. Just pain. He swears against the sharp sting and tries to push himself to his feet. He has a game to finish.

When he tries to put weight on it, his knee gives out again, but strong arms catch him before he can hit the ground again. The sharp, shrill ring of the ref’s whistle bounces off the walls, piercing Oikawa’s eardrums.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi mutters, his voice low and hot against Oikawa’s ear. When he tries to put weight on the knee, it feels like it’ll give out again. Arms tight around his waist, he starts dragging him toward the bench. Toward their fast-approaching coach.

“You said there wasn’t a problem!” he fumes, red in the face. Oikawa’s never seen him this mad, not even when he sent oatmeal flying all over the pristine gym floors.

All he can say is, “It’s just a sprain.”

“It _was_ just a sprain, dumbass,” Iwaizumi corrects, dropping him onto the bench. “You shouldn’t have overworked yourself. I’ll take him to the nurse.”

Exasperated, Oikawa says, “I just need ice! And a minute to rest.”

Though, no one seems to hear him. “No,” his coach denies, “we need you in the game. I’ll just call the trainer.” Iwaizumi disappears.

Oikawa extends his leg out in front of him. He grimaces at the ache and folds it up, again. The brace he was forced to wear isn’t doing jack shit, now. He’d feel better about being right, if he didn’t actually feel so shitty.

Then there’s Iwaizumi again, pressing a bag of ice to his knee. He’s muttering. “I tell you all the fucking time, ‘ _Oikawa, you can’t work yourself so hard. You’re going to get injured. Then, you won’t ever be able to play for university._ ’ But does anybody listen to me? Nope. And look what happened.”

Their fingers brush when Oikawa takes the ice from his grip, eyebrows drawn together as he looks down at him. Iwaizumi looks at him with wide eyes, then stands up and steps back for the trainer. The loss is a dull thump against his heart.

“You good, boss?” Matsukawa asks, clapping a supportive hand over his captain’s shoulder. It jerks Oikawa out of his reverie.

“I’m _fine_. I just need a minute and then I’ll be back out there,” he grumbles, letting the trainer move the ice away to inspect his knee.

The coach barks a laugh. “Ha! That’s funny. You’re not going anywhere, unless it’s to the hospital.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Oikawa tries again. His coach ignores him.

The ref blows the whistle, and the game carries on without him. When the brace is pulled down his leg, the pain somehow gets worse. The trainer palpates around his knee to find where it’s sore, despite Oikawa’s protests that he’s okay. His shaky tone probably doesn’t help his case, any. He spots Iwaizumi glance at him from the court. 

Oikawa draws a sharp breath and jerks his leg when the trainer pokes the tender tissue beside his kneecap. That’s all he needs, apparently, because he turns to the expectant coach and crosses his arms. “He’ll have to go see a doctor. Best case scenario, he stretched the muscle. Worst case scenario, he tore a ligament. Either way, there’s not much I can do for him, right now, but give him ice.”

Irihata runs his hand over his face. With a low voice, he inquires, “It’s not the ACL or anything, right?” It’s not low enough for Oikawa to miss.

“Most likely.”

His blood turns to ice in his veins. _Anything_ , he prays, _anything but that._

ACL tears mean surgeries and recovery periods. Oikawa can't afford either.

His coach and the trainer have forgotten him, but haven’t forgotten to talk about him in the third person. Not that Oikawa can hear them, anymore. Other than his own heartbeat, all that Oikawa can hear is _you’re fucked!_ replaying over and over in his head.

A hand drops onto his shoulder. He jumps. “You okay, Oikawa?” the voice of Sugawara asks, soothing as always. It’s not enough to ease his stresses, this time.

Oikawa takes a shaky breath and remembers where he is. “You can’t be over here, Refreshing-kun. Go back to your team,” he says, but the lighthearted tone he intends to have falls flat.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“What?”

“You’re going to be okay.”

He’s heard that a lot, lately, but can’t find himself convinced. The ice against his knee has driven all the blood from his hands, but he doesn’t notice it. He wants to believe Sugawara, he really does. Obviously, from the soft smile on his face, he believes himself. But Oikawa knows better. Any injury isn’t okay.

Silently, Oikawa curses all the higher beings that exist for giving him this shitty week. “Your team needs you, Sugawara,” he states, then turns away and rubs at his face to hide the tears burning his eyes.

On the bright side, Iwaizumi’s still playing strong. Reliable as ever, Oikawa muses bitterly. Each spike is just as powerful, if not more powerful, than the last. Through the intensity of the game, he still spares glances toward the bench.

Oikawa grimaces while he shifts his leg into a better position. Distantly, he hears his coach say they’re going to call his parents. He tells them, absently, that his parents are hours away. Far away, he hears his coach say he’ll drive him to the doctor himself after the game. For some reason, Oikawa wonders what it would take to get the guy to leave in the middle of a game.

When Hanamaki rotates out, he takes the open spot next to Oikawa. The captain offers him a water bottle, which he graciously takes. “How you feeling?” he asks after he takes a few sips.

A small voice in the back of Oikawa’s head screams that that’s a stupid question. He says nothing. His eyes are still on Iwaizumi. “You just went for it, right?” he questions with a faraway voice. “You were sick of holding it in? Keeping it a secret? You just wanted to get it out and let the chips fall where they may?”

Hanamaki pauses. He’s smart. Oikawa knows he knows that Oikawa knows about his secret relationship with Matsukawa. “Yeah?”

Now, the fact that they're keeping this secret from him feels so tiny and insignificant. Oikawa’s eyes drop down to the waxed floor and he shakes his head. “It’s crazy,” he says with a quiet voice, “how two insanely similar situations can have such drastically different outcomes.”

Without saying a word, Hanamaki squeezes his shoulder and rubs his back. Yeah, Oikawa’s really glad he has the friends he does.

The lead gets smaller, but they still beat Karauno for this set, winning the match. Iwaizumi doesn’t talk to him again that day. The win should taste sweeter, if it weren’t for the fact that Oikawa couldn’t stand without help.

Irihata drives him to the closest hospital as soon as the final whistle blows. After MRIs and x-rays, the doctors tell them what Oikawa already knew: it’s an ACL tear. Partial, but still there. 

Like he isn’t there, the coach and doctor go over options for recovery. Surgery is thrown around. Irihata says it’s necessary for him to keep playing, but the doctor says it doesn’t always work. Recovery time comes down to a minimum of three months.

Oikawa cries on the car ride home. If only he’d gone with his parents to Niigata.

 

* * *

 

“What’s their deal?” Hanamaki exclaims, slamming his locker closer. “He won’t talk to him, but is ready to just ditch the game when he needs help?”

Matsukawa only shrugs. He’s as clueless as his boyfriend. “I hope Oikawa’s okay. He’s been having a rough week.”

 

* * *

 

Alone at home with an order to stay off his feet unless absolutely necessary, Oikawa cries until he’s dehydrated and dried out.

There were only two things in the world that Oikawa cared about: volleyball and Iwaizumi. Now, he has neither.

He chugs a bottle of water and cries some more.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the damage?”

Oikawa pulls out one of his earphones and looks up at Fumiko standing over him. She sits down next to him against the wall of the gym. When he gives her a confused look, she points to the thick brace on his right knee. It’s there to keep his leg straight so he won’t fuck it up further, but he’s pretty sure it’s so he can’t run when people ask him questions about his future.

Normally, just the sight of her would send his heart to the pits, but he’s too mentally exhausted to feel shitty because of her presence. Hanamaki and Matsukawa, tying their shoes nearby, turn to Oikawa to wait for his response. 

“Partial ACL tear,” he says, to give the vultures some scraps.

There are 3 sympathetic hisses of pain from each of the listeners, which he nods to. “Yeah,” he mutters. “My thoughts.”

Fumiko’s voice is gentle when she speaks, again. “Are you going to get surgery?”

“Yeah. I kind of have to,” he scoffs. It comes out forcefully. More so than he means it to.

A few beats of silence. “When?” she presses further.

“Next Sunday.” He’s been counting down every second, dreading it with every fiber of his being. He’s not going to cry again.

“Well, I mean… On the bright side, those losers have to answer your every beck and call,” Fumiko suggests with a soft smile, tilting her head to try to make eye contact with him.

The losers in question, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, make noises of protest, but Oikawa finds himself laughing. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Makki~” he sings the name. “I’m thirsty. Can you get me some water?”

While getting to his feet, Hanamaki grumbles, “What’s next? Want me to bathe you, too?”

“Oh, how kind of you to offer, Makki!”

The water bottle hits him square in the side of his head and rolls away on the floor. “Anyway,” Oikawa says to Fumiko, “I can’t practice, but Coach keeps telling me I need to show up to keep the soldiers motivated. So, fuck me, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you company,” she promises, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. He won’t lie, for some reason it does. “What’re you listening to?”

Without knowing why, Oikawa offers her the other earphone. He never gave her a chance, before. Something about her puts him at ease. Sort of like with Sugawara. He doesn’t have the urge to be extra charming, like with his fan girls. He can see why Iwaizumi would like her. She’s good enough. He hates to say it, but she’s cool.

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa hands Oikawa a bottle of water and sits down next to him. The sun over their heads chases away the chill of the breeze. It’s a gorgeous day.

Oikawa watches some birds soar overhead. “I told him I’m in love with him.” For a moment, he gets a sense of déjà vu.

Choking on the water he was in the middle of taking a sip of, Matsukawa sputters, “What?”

It’s cute that he’s trying to act like he hasn’t been trying to weasel that information out of Oikawa for the past few days. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa answers. “That’s why he stopped talking to me."

“You love him?”

In every sense of the word. It wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t.

There’s a beat of silence after Oikawa nods. His friend looks dumbstruck. “…What?”

“That all you got to say?”

Matsukawa opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’s found the words by the time he opens them again. “I’m sorry. I just need a moment to process this,” he mutters, a prominent wrinkle forming between his eyebrows.

Patient as ever, Oikawa gives him the time. It’s too nice of a day to get annoyed with anything. It takes twenty, maybe thirty, seconds for Matsukawa to speak again. “Okay. Hold on. That doesn’t seem right. What happened? Tell me everything.”

For the second time this week, Oikawa recounts the entire story, from start to finish, without missing a detail. By now, he’s lost the dramatic inflections he’d used with Sugawara. He might as well be reading off the nutrition facts on the back of a box of cereal.

“I wish I could go back,” he states when he finishes story-telling. “I wish I could stop myself from doing it. I’d rather hold it all in, if it meant I could still keep him around.”

Solemnly, Matsukawa gives him a sympathetic frown. “You’d be miserable, though.”

“But I’d have him. Even if it isn’t in the way I want.” Like a man dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean. Oikawa keeps talking like he lost Iwaizumi, but the truth is that he was never his to lose.

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa starts, then falls silent. When Oikawa turns his eyes from the sky to his friend, Matsukawa looks almost like he’s in pain. “Iwaizumi’s… he’s been in love with you. For years.”

The statement brings a new sting to Oikawa’s eyes. It’s cruel, really. Now what he expected from his friend. Matsukawa doesn’t play with people. “That’s a good joke,” he responds with a hollow laugh.

“No, I’m serious. Since before I even knew you guys, probably. He told me so. He didn’t think he had a chance,” his friend asserts, settling a strong hand on his shoulder. Oikawa looks up to Matsukawa, and sees nothing but open honesty in his expression.

A flicker of hope warms Oikawa’s aching heart. Then, it’s stamped out again when he remembers their argument. Flippantly, he waves his hand around. “Even if he did love me,” he says, “it doesn’t matter now. I fucked it up. By being a dumbass. Like I always do.”

It occurs to Oikawa that maybe he’d ruined it before their argument. Maybe he’d ruined it years ago, by assuming how Iwaizumi treated him was just a testament to the trust in their relationship. He never imagined, in a million years, that he would ever be someone that Seijoh’s ace, arguably the best player on the team, the most loyal and caring friend on the planet, Iwaizumi Hajime, would want.

He’d hoped, sure, but knew he wasn’t good enough.

With a sigh, Matsukawa gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll turn out okay, bud. I promise,” he swears.

Oikawa doesn’t respond. He leans over and presses his forehead into Matsukawa’s shoulder. He wishes he’d realized sooner that he’s not alone without Iwaizumi. Not really.

 

* * *

 

“They’re just dumbasses.”

Hanamaki turns to his boyfriend with his eyebrows pulled together. “What? Naruto and Sasuke?”

They’re chilling on Matsukawa’s couch, watching reruns on TV. It’s mindless, just meant to pass the time until his parents leave. He hasn’t been paying attention, too stuck on how stupid his friends are being.

“Well, yeah, but I meant Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

“Hmm,” Hanamaki hums, tapping his chin. “We knew that, but elaborate.”

Matsukawa turns on the cushion to face his body towards him. “Oikawa told him he loves him. Iwaizumi thinks he’s lying to fuck with him or something. It’s a huge misunderstanding, but Oikawa’s in some pit of self-loathing and won’t talk to Iwaizumi. He said Iwaizumi’s made it clear how he felt, that idiot. It doesn’t help that he now thinks his life is over because of his knee.

"Speaking of his knee, did you see how Iwaizumi reacted when shit went down? He still cares! I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing!” From another room, Matsukawa hears his mother shout for him to stop yelling.

“And what can you do about it?” Hanamaki inquires, tilting his head to the side. He knows there’s going to be a plan, if it hasn’t already been made.

“I’mma meddle. Duh.”

 

* * *

 

Fumiko’s eyes are a pretty blue, Oikawa realizes. Not like the ocean, deep and dark. More like the sky, closer to sunrise when it’s a little gray.

“What was that?” Oikawa asks, uncaring of how rude it is to not listen when someone’s talking to him. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

“I broke up with Iwaizumi.”

Now, she has his full attention. He freezes, fork suspended in the air. Leave it to Fumiko to drop this bombshell while he’s eating lunch. He pushes his bento aside, appetite gone. “Why? Don’t you like him?” He tries to keep his voice level.

She drops down into the empty chair next to him. Nosy as always, Matsukawa and Hanamaki have stopped eating, too. “I did,” she answers. “I do. But I wasn’t happy. I _was_ really happy at first, because he was so cool, y’know?” He does know.

With a thoughtful frown, she shrugs. “But it didn’t feel…real. He gave me so much of his time, but he never treated me like he treated you.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen a fraction. He wants to tell her to count her blessings that she didn’t endure the abuse he did at Iwaizumi’s hand, but he holds back. He’s also a little struck at the assumption that the goal in a relationship with Iwaizumi is what he has with Oikawa.

“That was bad enough,” she continues, “but then he spiraled after you guys had that argument.”

Chair legs scrape against linoleum when Hanamaki stands and points a finger in Oikawa’s face. “I knew there was an argument!”

_Smack!_

“Shut the fuck up,” Matsukawa mutters.

Unnerved by their behavior, Fumiko is still going. “He was miserable and he stopped wanting to hang out and I wasn’t happy. I’m pretty sure the most attention he paid to me was when you were around.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything. What can he say to that? Fumiko gives him a long look. “Maybe he liked me at first. Then I became a distraction Then I was used to make you jealous. No matter how much I like him, I won’t let him use me anymore,” she says with a firm voice. Then, she adds in a softer tone, “If he ever felt something for me, he lost those feelings long ago.”

“Fumiko…” Oikawa trails off, unsure of how to comfort her. This is a brand-new set of circumstances he’s been introduced to.

“Nah,” she says before he can offer any reassurance. “Don’t apologize. Don’t think you’ve beaten me, Oikawa Tooru. I left because I wanted to, not because I was going to be dumped for you.”

At the absurdity of the statement, Oikawa laughs. Fumiko smiles back at him without animosity. “You’re cool, Fumiko. I wish I’d realized it sooner,” he says with a lingering smile.

“Yeah. You’re cool, too, I guess. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.” She leans over to look at Matsukawa and Hanamaki directly. “You two, too.”

Hanamaki’s eyebrows reach up to his hairline. “What about a tutu?”

Before that trainwreck can say anything else, Oikawa cuts in. “We have another game next week. I won’t be in it, unfortunately, but you should still drop by and catch a few minutes,” he offers.

“Maybe I will. And I’ll make a point to boo you the entire time,” she responds.

“I mean I’ll be on the bench the entire time, but go off, I guess.”

Fumiko laughs and stands up. As she starts toward the door, she tells them, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Oikawa hopes so. He’s sure they would’ve been good friends in any other situation.

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa catches Iwaizumi before he leaves practice that day. The coach had allowed Oikawa to leave without staying for practice when he said he wanted to take a nap and rest. Apparently, the coach has a soft spot for injured athletes, and doesn’t even bother to find something to berate him for.

“Cut the shit, Iwaizumi.”

The boy looks up from where he’s zipping up his bag on the floor. A shirt is caught in the zipper, and he jerks it in frustration. “Huh?”

“Oikawa may be blind, but I’m not,” Matsukawa explains, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s in a no-shit kind of mood. “You love him. He loves you. What the hell are you doing?”

Coldly, Iwaizumi scoffs. “He loves attention,” he responds, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his tone. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Matsukawa smacks him.

 

* * *

 

“I’m being absolutely serious. M&Ms all taste the same, not matter what color they are,” Matsukawa says while he’s walking home with Oikawa and Hanamaki the next day.

The latter laughs, disbelieving. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

“No, no. I googled it earlier and it sai-“ he cuts himself off, cranking the theatrics up to 110%. “Oh, fuck! I forgot to lock up the storage closet and the gym!”

The trio stop walking. Well, two of them stop walking and Oikawa stops hobbling along with his crutches. Hanamaki was kind enough to carry his bag for him, the sweetheart. He levels his boyfriend with an unimpressed look.

“Really?” Oikawa questions, unimpressed for a different reason. “That’s your one job and you forgot it?”

“Shut up,” Matsukawa retorts. “I can’t go back because, uhhh, my mom will kill me.” He claps his hands together and gives his captain his best puppy dog eyes. “Oikawa, can you go back and lock up for me?”

Oikawa takes a long look down at the crutches under his arms, then looks up to his teammate again, an eyebrow quirked. “You for real? I can’t walk.”

“Ugh,” Matsukawa groans and slaps the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. Hanamaki’s barely-suppressed giggling isn’t helping him sell it. “Oikawa, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t detrimental to my health that I get home asap as possible.”

When Oikawa looks helplessly to Hanamaki, he only gets a shrug and a shake of the head for support. With an exasperated eye roll, he relents. “Fine. Give me the keys.”

Matsukawa showers him in thanks when he hands him the gym keys. Oikawa’s pretty sure it was a ploy to get some alone time with Hanamaki. Which is pretty shitty, considering he’s currently crippled.

But as captain, it’s his duty to make sure the gym is always cleaned and locked up after practices. Irihata would have his ass on a silver platter if anything bad happened to the gym because it wasn’t locked. So, he takes his bag from Hanamaki, turns around, and starts back towards the gym. At this rate, he won’t get home until after dark.

The door to the gym is, in fact, unlocked. Oikawa curses under his breath. This means he has to check the storage closet, too. If even one thing is done incorrectly, it’s his ass on the line. Even if Matsukawa’s dumb ass promised he’d do it.

“Hey.”

Oikawa stops. Iwaizumi’s leaning against the wall beside the door, hands shoved in his pockets. For some reason, a surge of irritation wells up in Oikawa’s chest. “You really made me struggle all the way back here, instead of just stopping me before I left?” he asks, his voice flat.

Blushing, Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck. “It was Matsukawa’s idea.”

“That meddling little twit,” Oikawa mutters to himself.

“We need to talk,” Iwaizumi asserts, voice firm. Hell yeah, they do.

There are rocks in Oikawa’s lungs. “I know Fumiko dumped you,” he blurts out, because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind.

Iwaizumi visibly winces. “You do?”

Nodding, Oikawa adds, “She told me… along with other stuff.”

“Ugh,” Oikawa groans and drags a hand over his face. “Of course, she did.”

Trying for a joke, Oikawa says weakly, “Bitches, amiright?” Why he’s trying to lighten the mood beats him.

Iwaizumi actually chuckles at that. “Shut the fuck up,” he says through the laughs. His eyes rise from the floor to Oikawa’s face and becomes somewhat solemn.

Oikawa takes a deep breath and leans against the wall. “Yeah, we need to talk.” Carefully, he sits down on the ground and leans his crutches against the wall beside him.

“How bad is it?” Iwaizumi asks, referring to the knee trapped in a prison the doctor called a brace. It’s a surprise he hasn’t heard about it from someone else. It’s not like he’s keeping his injury a secret.

“Partial ACL tear.”

“Oof,” he says sympathetically. “When are you getting surgery?”

Oikawa feels his lips turn up a millimeter. Iwaizumi still knows him best. “Next Sunday. Then, I have at least three months of rehab and recovery before I get full mobility back. But that’s only if I’m a really good boy,” he explains.

When he looks at Iwaizumi, he’s shaking his head. “I told you that you can’t keep staying after practices to work so hard. I told you that you’d only injured yourself,” he warns in his old ‘I knew it’ voice.

With a playful roll of his eyes, Oikawa says, “Yeah, okay, Mom. Whatever.”

They chuckle to each other. Just like that, Oikawa remembers just how easy it is to be around Iwaizumi, at least for him. He’d forgotten that feeling, since the last few times they talked was mostly Oikawa trying to find the right things to say and royally fucking up. It’s like coming home, almost. Like coming home, but someone’s rearranged the furniture.

 _I miss you_ , Oikawa thinks.

Iwaizumi looks up, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Oh. He said that out loud. Coloring, Iwaizumi looks down at the floor. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs in a soft voice.

His heart _should_ be racing faster than a rocket ship, but he feels calm. The statement is a relief. Warmth swells in Oikawa’s chest.

“Matsukawa talked to me. He told me, uh. Well, first he called me a dumbass,” Iwaizumi explained, his ears bright pink.

With a laugh, Oikawa reassures him, “Yeah, he has a tendency of doing that.” He knows this very well.

“But he was right. I was being a dumbass.” Oikawa wants to comment on how he’s always been and always will be a dumbass, but refrains. Obviously, the kid’s trying to get somewhere.

“I said some nasty shit to you,” Iwaizumi continues, shaking his head and grimacing. “I didn’t mean it. You’ve got to know I didn’t mean any of it. I’m so sorry, Oikawa. I’m sorry I said it. I shouldn’t have.”

Before he can stop himself, Oikawa asks, “Then, why did you?”

“I wanted you to hurt…hurt as much as I did,” Iwaizumi answers cryptically.

Oikawa wants to ask what he means, but Iwaizumi beats him to it. He continues, “I thought you knew… how I felt about you and you were using my feelings to keep me strung along so I’d keep inflating your ego.”

“You were right, at least,” Oikawa says with a self-deprecating grin. He clarifies, "About what you said."

He shakes his head. “No. I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were. I keep those girls strung along.” Though, there’s a fundamental difference between the two situations. Oikawa’s not friends with them.

“I don’t really think that,” Iwaizumi clarifies, voice taking on a new note of desperation. His eyes are pleading Oikawa to understand. “I was just overthinking. I overreacted.”

This intense situation is stifling. It’s too much for even Oikawa, who loves the dramatics. Maybe it’s different because he’s the center of it. “You should’ve known better, Iwa-chan,” he teases. “I don’t tell those girls they have a chance, I just never tell them they don’t. And anyway, I don’t lie to you. I thought you knew that.”

“Fuck, Oikawa, I did- _I do_. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I mean, I was thinking pretty gay myself, at the time,” he tries, then cringes at himself.

“Can you shut the fuck up? For once? In your life? That wasn’t even a good joke.” Oikawa throws up his hands in surrender, smiling nervously. Iwaizumi continues, “Do you… Do you still feel the same way?”

The pink in his ears has spread to his neck and his cheeks. It’s endearing. The warmth in Oikawa’s chest spreads to his stomach and the rest of his body. He can’t hold back a smile. “Do I still love you?” he asks.

Iwaizumi nods, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. In a soft voice, so low Oikawa isn’t sure if he can hear it, he whispers, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

When Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, Oikawa feels his heart sink. Maybe he’d gotten ahead of himself. That’s why he never let himself hope: he really hates being hurt. “Don’t worry,” he assures, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “If it’s really that much of a bother, I can just ignore it. We can move past it.”

He’s been ignoring it just fine for the past few weeks, even if he also had no idea. He can deal with not dating Iwaizumi, but he can’t keep acting like he can live without him. He misses his best friend.

“You’re a dumbass.”

Shocked, Oikawa looks up to the other boy. “People keep saying that.”

“If Fumiko hadn’t dumped me, I would’ve dumped her.” She’d mentioned that she broke up with him before she was dumped. But she also said she would be dumped for Oikawa, so he chalked it up to paranoia.

“Hm?”

“Yeah. It’s hard to be in a relationship when you’re in love with someone else.”

“Oh?” It’s all he knows to say. He’s sure there’s something better to say, but his mind is pretty empty.

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a few beats. Oikawa nods absently while Iwaizumi levels him with a steady gaze and a quirked eyebrow. “That’s you. I’m talking about you,” he says, like it was obvious.

“Oh!” Oikawa repeats, eyebrows raised. “You love me?”

Iwaizumi blushes a darker red down past his neck, below his collar. Oikawa wonders if he’s a full-body blusher. Oikawa wonders if he’ll have the opportunity to find out. The prospects look better and better the longer this conversation goes on.

“God. Don’t say it like that, you nerd,” he mutters, then adds something under his breath about it being _so uncool_.

Unable to contain it, Oikawa laughs a real, honest laugh at the elation bubbling in his chest. It's the first one in awhile. Sheepishly, Iwaizumi gives him a little smile. “So…” Oikawa starts. “What do we do?”

Apologies are forgotten. As far as Oikawa cares, he’s already forgiven him. Even though he wants to argue that Iwaizumi’s reaction wasn’t completely unwarranted, since Oikawa was also a shit. Instead of carrying it on, he just drops it. He’s happy.

“Were you telling the truth? That you, uhh,” Iwaizumi asks, rubbing the back on his neck. It’s a nervous habit that’s new to Oikawa, despite their childhood friendship.

“Are in love with you? Head over heels for you? Hopelessly smitten? Yes.”

Comically, Iwaizumi cringes. Who knew he would get so embarrassed and shy over feelings? He hadn’t been like this with Fumiko, as far as Oikawa knew.

“I’m about to go back to ignoring you,” Iwaizumi promises, though there’s no warning in his voice. It’s an empty threat.

“I’d like to see you try,” Oikawa challenges, laughing while he says it.

Iwaizumi kisses him. It’s short. A peck on the lips. Yet it causes explosions in Oikawa’s chest, and he feels his throat close up. Iwaizumi’s lips are just as soft as he remembers. When Iwaizumi pulls back, Oikawa’s eyes are saucers.

He starts to sputter an apology, eyebrows shooting past his forehead and reaching for the sky. Really, this kid is going to get wrinkles. Before he can get far, Oikawa grabs him by the shirt and yanks him back for more.

The second kiss is much less innocent than the first. Oikawa trails his tongue over Iwaizumi’s bottom lip and the boy wastes no time meeting it with his own. With a sigh, Oikawa lets go on his shirt and trails his hand up Iwaizumi’s neck into his hair, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Iwaizumi’s tongue slides over the back of Oikawa’s teeth and he almost faints.

When one of them pulls away, they’re both breathing heavily. At some point, one or both of them had moved closer to the other. One of Iwaizumi’s hands, the one not lost in Oikawa’s hair, is fisting the material of his shirt behind his back. Oikawa brushes his hand up to hold Iwaizumi’s jaw, struck by how soft the skin is.

Flushed, Iwaizumi’s hair is a mess. Oikawa’s sure he doesn’t look much better. With a genuine smile, Iwaizumi’s thumb traces over Oikawa’s cheekbone. The amount of affection that swells in Oikawa’s chest is almost too much for his heart to handle. He’s never felt something this intense before, never from any game or academic achievement.

“I don’t know what you were talking about. I got a lot from that,” Oikawa whispers, his throat thick with emotion. He grins, thinking himself so clever.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows pull together. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Oikawa deflates. “You know, like…you said when we shotgunned? You were like ‘did you get anything from that? I didn’t get anything from that?’ Come on. I was trying to be charming and you ruined it!”

“You’re not charming, Trashkawa,” Iwaizumi says, but he’s laughing.

“Yeah, but I charmed you.”

Eyes turned down but smile still on his face, Iwaizumi replies with a low voice, “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

Chivalry proves itself still alive when Iwaizumi carries Oikawa’s back for him while they walk home together. After dark, just like he thought. After they properly lock up the gym, too, of course. He’s not irresponsible like some of his teammates.

As they make their way through the dark, empty house, Iwaizumi wonders, “Where are your parents?” Oikawa’s mom usually greets him with a hug when he goes over.

“Niigata. Obaachan passed away a few days ago,” he answers, like he’s saying they went to the corner store.

“Fuck, Oikawa. Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” he answers, flashing a smile at him when he opens his door. “You’re here, now.” He means it.

Iwaizumi collapses onto Oikawa’s bed, face buried in one of the pillows, and kicks off his shoes. It’s like they didn’t spend the last two weeks as sudden strangers. Crazy to think that it was barely even two weeks. It felt like eons. Letting his crutches fall on the ground haphazardly, Oikawa discards his shirt and pulls one of Iwaizumi’s hoodies over his head.

He shucks off his shorts, careful of his immobile knee, and turns around. Iwaizumi hasn’t moved but has turned his head to watch the show. Oikawa teases, “Are you peeping on me while I change my clothes?”

Half of his face is hidden by pillow. The sound of skin rubbing against fabric when he nods is his only response. Oikawa laughs and sits down on the bed next to him. “Is that my hoodie?” the prone boy asks, eyebrows raised.

Oikawa wonders if his eyebrows have always been this expressive, and he just hasn’t noticed. “Yes. And you can’t have it back.”

“Whatever. You can keep it. It looks good on you.”

The innocent statement sends a pleasant shock through Oikawa’s entire body. Such a simple compliment shouldn’t cause him to short-circuit, but it does. “You text your mom?” Oikawa asks, because he’s dumbfounded on how to respond. This flustered feeling is brand-new to him.

“Yep. She said it’s cool but that I have to make sure we’re both at school on time, tomorrow,” he answers, nuzzling his nose into the pillow. His chest inflates and Oikawa wonders if he’s taking a deep breath or smelling it.

“Ugh. Remind me to buy her a really good Christmas present. Best wingman.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s known longer than either of us,” Iwaizumi grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow in his face.

“Known how crazy into me you were?”

Iwaizumi shoves him playfully and pushes himself to his feet. “I have any shorts here?” he inquires, stretching his arms over his head. Oikawa takes a moment to watch the muscles in his shoulders flex.

“Nah. Just wear mine. How long _have_ you been dreaming about me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, not ready to let that go.

The question is meant more as a joke to tease him, but Iwaizumi pauses in his search through the dresser. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I’m not sure when I started loving you, I just know when I started realizing it.”

Oikawa’s throat is thick. “And when was that?” Some of the prior playfulness is missing from his voice, replaced with something more raw.

Iwaizumi finds a pair of shorts he likes and pushes the drawer closed with his hip. Pulling them on, he responds, “Dunno. Third year of junior high, I’m pretty sure. Your fish died and you wouldn’t stop crying over it and had that funeral by the sewer drain and I just kept thinking, ‘yeah, this is the one.’”

Tears sting Oikawa’s eyes when Iwaizumi turns back to him. “Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to make you cry,” he mumbles and sits down on the bed. He grabs Oikawa’s cheeks with gentle hands. “You’re a crybaby, you know that. The fish died years ago, you can’t keep crying every time I mention it.”

Through the tears, Oikawa laughs. God, he’s been crying so much. But this time, it’s not because he feels terrible. “You’re too good for me, Iwa-chan.”

“What?”

“I’m never going to be good enough for someone like you,” he explains, but his voice isn’t sad. To him, it’s just a fact of life.

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi says, “Aw, shut up. Whether or not you’re actually good enough is irrelevant. You may be selfish, egotistical, arrogant, hardworking to a fault, annoying as hell, and the most obnoxious person on the planet, but you’re all that I want. So, stop crying, ya baby.”

“You have a way with words, has anyone told you that?”

“I got you to stop crying, didn’t I?” He did.

Iwaizumi sits up against his wall and Oikawa climbs up next to him. Then, when he wants to be closer, he settles between his legs with his back leaning against Iwaizumi’s chest. When he rests his head back, Iwaizumi’s jaw bumps against his crown. “Let’s not fight again, okay?”

“If you think it’s possible for _us_ to never fight again, I think you tore something in your _brain_ , not just your knee,” Iwaizumi jokes, voice warm just behind Oikawa’s ear.

“Fuck, you’re right.”

“Let’s try to talk through our shit before we start throwing verbal punches, agreed?” he offers instead.

He takes a deep breath. “Agreed. I think we handled more than enough conflict in our relationship already, and it didn’t even start until twenty minutes ago,” Oikawa says with a smile.

Iwaizumi laughs deep in his chest. It rumbles against Oikawa’s back. He leans his head back against Iwaizumi’s shoulder with a soft sigh. His heart is full. He doesn’t feel empty anymore. For the first time in a while, he feels he’s going to be okay.

The surgery, his grandma’s funeral, university applications (and inevitable rejections), are going to be fine, whether they turn out well or not. Because Iwaizumi’s going to be there with him, every step of the way.

He can’t wait.

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa’s phone buzzes on his nightstand. It’s a snapchat from Oikawa. When he opens it, he’s greeted by the grinning faces of his captain and vice-captain, close together and very obviously in Oikawa’s room.

It says ‘ _u were right. it turned out ok_.’

Matsukawa smiles to nobody.

 _Ding!_ Another snapchat.

It’s a black screen that says ‘ _also ur dead u scheming fucker._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oikawa suffers from dumb bitch disease. it's incurable
> 
> legit i rewrote this chapter so many times bc it wasn't reading how i wanted it to but here we are!
> 
> lit it's over. thanks 4 reading! kudos r great, comments r amazing and i love all of u <3


End file.
